


Phil Coulson Doesn't Work for StarkIndustries

by scifigrl47



Series: Phil Coulson's Case Files of the Toasterverse [9]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: But he's trying, Domestic, Gen, Humor, International incidents, M/M, Pepper Potts has the worst job, Teambuilding, Tony's bad at this, lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-24
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-11-26 16:30:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/652230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scifigrl47/pseuds/scifigrl47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleeping with a super hero is great, until he becomes a little restless at night.  Tony Stark, not the easiest sleeper himself, knows his way around a nightmare, but what do you do when protecting the ones you love leads to unexpected international incidents?  Subtitled: lying to Steve Rogers is much harder than it looks.</p><p>Phil Coulson's the one in charge of writing this nonsense up, and he does not work at StarkIndustries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Фил Коулсон не работает на «Старк Индастриз»](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9441119) by [faikit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/faikit/pseuds/faikit), [WTF_Avengers_2017](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WTF_Avengers_2017/pseuds/WTF_Avengers_2017)



> Warnings for discussion of domestic abuse, injury, PTSD, nightmares and minor violence.

Tony Stark was used to nightmares.

Mostly, he was used to his own. Used to dealing with them, used to working around them, used to ignoring them. He was really, really good at ignoring them.

Since he started sleeping with Steve Rogers, he'd realized it was a lot easier to ignore his own nightmares than it was to ignore someone else's.

He came awake in a state of barely controlled panic as Steve choked on a scream. Tony was rolling out of the way even as he struggled awake, his body moving on instinct and adrenaline as Steve flailed against the confining fabric of their sheets. It gave Tony a moment to get free, to get out of range, and he hovered on the edge of the bed, his heart pounding as he kept a close eye on Steve's fists.

“Steve,” he said, creeping back. “It's okay, Steve, it's okay, it's just a nightmare. C'mon, baby, it's fine, you're just having a bad-”

He was so busy watching Steve's fists that he completely missed the elbow.

It slammed into the side of his head, knocking him back, sending him crashing off the edge to the bed and onto the floor. For an instant, he just lay there, seeing stars explode behind his eyes, his head spinning. Tony shook his head, hard, shaking off the dizziness and scrambling to his feet before he could black out. It took him two tries to get up, but he managed it, staggering back to the edge of the bed.

“Steve,” he called, gripping the headboard, keeping out of reach now, because he really could not afford a second hit. “Steve!”

On the bed, Steve twisted, still trapped by the sheets, his chest heaving as he fought some invisible battle. His skin was slick with sweat, pale in the reflected light outside and from Tony's arc reactor. “Steve,” Tony repeated, not yelling, but trying to pitch his voice to be heard. “It's okay, you're safe, we're all safe, it's fine.”

Steve rolled towards him, and Tony scrambled backwards, keeping out of reach, safely out of range, keeping up the litany of reassurances the whole time. “C'mon, Cap, it's all right, you're home, you're in the Tower. Not the war anymore, you're safe, you're home.”

A sound very much like a broken whimper slipped from Steve's parted lips, and he flailed out with one desperate hand. His fingers clawed at the air, batting at nothing, reaching out, and Tony caught Steve's hand between both of his. Steve's fingers locked onto his palm, the grip painful. Tony sucked in a sharp breath, but he squeezed back. “It's okay,” he said, and his voice was coming down in volume, soft and gentle and soothing as he let Steve reel him in. 

His knees hit the side of the bed, and he got one hand loose, leaning over Steve. “It's okay. I love you, you're safe, it's just a nightmare.” His fingers carded through Steve's hair, pushing the strands away from the damp skin of Steve's forehead. Steve sighed, the strain going out of his body, relaxing by stages, his muscles going lax. Tony watched, still making soothing noises, until his face smoothed out, his lips parting on a sound of pain.

When Steve let out a faint sigh that sounded like Tony's name, he knew it was over. Steve's hand went lax in his, and Tony pressed a kiss to the back of it. “I love you,” he whispered, working his fingers free. “It's okay, I'm right here, I'm not going anywhere.”

Tony slid back onto the bed, touching Steve's hand, his wrist, sliding his hand up the length of Steve's arm. He kept the contact the whole time he shifted closer, no sudden moves, no loud noises, just a soft, reassuring murmur of words that didn't make much sense. By the time he reached the solid curve of Steve's shoulder, Steve was rolling towards him, arms reaching out. A thin, pained sound slipped from his lips, and Tony slid into the shelter of his body, letting Steve's arms close around him. 

In his sleep, Steve shifted, rearranging their bodies until Tony was carefully tucked against his chest. Tony wiggled around, trying to get his back against Steve's front so he'd be able to breathe. It took a lot more work than it should've. Steve was affectionate and handsy under the best of circumstances, and when he was having a bad night, it was like trying to sleep with an octopus with separation anxiety and a couple of extra arms.

But as Tony relaxed back against his chest, he felt Steve give a soft sigh, his lips buried in Tony's hair. He mumbled something, his fingers sliding up Tony's chest to rest just below the arc reactor, and Tony covered Steve's hand with his. “It's okay,” he whispered. “Go back to sleep, Steve. It's okay.”

He waited, stroking a finger over the back of Steve's hand, over and over, until he managed to fall asleep again.

*

Tony woke up with a headache. 

He shifted, just a bit, wondering if he'd had too much to drink last night, it still happened, not so often, but he still had his drunk nights, but they were very seldom when he was going to end up in bed with Steve, and that was definitely Steve snoring against the top his head.

The vibrations of THAT weren't helping, either.

Tony lifted his head, and his stomach rolled over as a wave of pain swamped him. For a second, he was sure he was going to pass out, but somehow, he held onto consciousness. Risking a shallow, shuddering breath as his vision cleared, he fumbled for the edge of the bed. Slipping from Steve's grasp as quietly as he could manage, he all but fell to the floor.

What the fuck had he been drinking last night?

He got to the bathroom, though he wasn't sure how, his head was THROBBING, and he pushed the door shut. “Jarvis,” he said, pitching his voice low, “lights at half, please.”

The lights came up, and he caught a look at himself in the mirror. “Oh, right. That,” Tony said.

“You show no signs of a concussion, sir, but I doubt I shall be able to convince you to seek medical attention?”

“That's not happening,” Tony said, gripping the sink with both hands, his head spinning.

Jarvis sighed. “That being the case, a scan might be in order, if you could head to the workshop at your earliest convenience.” Jarvis sounded resigned.

“Yeah. Okay. Hoooo, boy,” Tony whispered, wincing. He reached up and touched the skin of his cheek, and winced again. His eye was already swollen half-shut, dark purple and red at the edges, the discoloration spreading down the side of his face. He grabbed a washcloth and wet it down, as cold as he could get from the tap and folded it over, pressing it to his face as he tried to think.

Steve was going to take one look at him and freak.

The cold cloth made his skin tingle, but it did not thing to reduce the swelling or the color, and he revised that. Steve was going to take one look at him, very calmly and politely break up with him, and move out. Knowing Steve, he'd also quit the team, move to Canada and become a hermit.

Tony made a face at the mirror. “Fuck that,” he muttered. “No way. I am not losing the best thing I've ever had unless it's my goddamn fault. Jarvis, what's the schedule like?”

“Clear, sir.”

“Well, let's fill it up.” He fumbled for the bottle of aspirin, and tossed three of them back dry. “Brew me some coffee, I've got a suit in the workshop, right?”

“Pressed and ready, sir. Coffee will be done by the time you get there.”

“You are a godsend.” Tony grabbed a pair of sweat pants from the recessed cupboard. It took far too much effort to get into the damn things, but if he tried to make it through the tower naked, he was sure to run into someone. And it would be Coulson. It was always Coulson. “Is anyone else up?”

“All the other residents are in their quarters,” Jarvis said. “The hour is still exceptionally early.”

“Yeah, but Pepper'll be in the office soon. That's the important thing. Okay, let's get this show on the road. I just-” He paused. “Just have to leave Steve a note.”

A text or a phone message would be so much more efficient, but Steve still liked physical things, and Tony didn't really question it. For the sheer amount of stupidity that Steve put up with, Tony was not going to complain about the fact that the man wanted real notes on real paper.

It wasn't much of a note, but in his defense, Tony had a hell of a headache. He scrawled, “Problems at StarkIndustries, will call you soon. Love you,” on a sheet of paper. Folding it up, Tony tucked it into Steve's palm, and kissed his forehead. “I love you,” he whispered against the skin.

Steve shifted in his sleep, reaching for Tony, but he was already out of reach. Grumbling, Steve rolled over, snuggling down into his pillow. Smiling, ignoring how that made his face ache, Tony slipped out the bedroom door.

*

“I need a business trip, Pepper.”

Pepper scrolled through her schedule for the day, only half paying attention to whatever Tony was babbling about. “Uh-huh. I'll see what I can do. For what purpose?”

“To get my ass the hell out of Dodge for a few days. I am serious, Pepper, I will be in your office in like five minutes. Either have somewhere for me to go, or I'll just tell everyone I'm on a business trip and live in the executive suite for the next week.”

That brought her head up. “What have you done?”

“What- Why do you always assume that I'VE done something, Pepper? That is hurtful and wrong. Here I am, trying my best to help you, trying to do the right thing for my company and my CEO, and I get nothing but abuse, nothing but suspicion and disbelief and horrible-”

Pepper rubbed her forehead. “Okay, fine, why do you need to get out of town, Tony?”

“Let's just say it's for the good of my relationship.”

Her stomach dropped. “Oh, God, what did you do to Steve?”

“That is just- Why is everyone on his side? This is just- You are supposed to be on my side, Pepper, there are rules, our breakup was very amiable, you're still my CEO, but you are supposed to be on my side, that is one of the rules of the blame-free break up!”

“I am on your side, Tony, but when you say that you need to leave town unexpectedly, and without warning, for the good of your relationship, that sets off certain red flags. Fleeing the scene of the crime is generally the act of a guilty man.”

Tony swept through the doors to her office, giving her PA an airy wave and a broad grin. “Extenuating circumstances, Pepper.” He shut the doors and ambled over to one of her visitor chairs, throwing himself into it. “Where am I going?” he sing-songed. “Don't leave it up to me, you won't like what haaaaaappens.”

“I'm not going to like it no matter what,” Pepper shot back, then realized she was still talking into her phone. “Why are we still on the phone, Tony? We're in the same room.”

“I secretly record all of our pleasant little chats,” Tony said, spinning his chair and leaning back. He was dressed in a suit that cost more than some cars and a pair of sunglasses, and Pepper resigned herself to a difficult morning. He was in a mood and he was clearly looking to share.

Pepper disconnected the call and tossed the phone aside. “Tony...”

“That's the newest StarkPhone, you know,” Tony pointed out. “I mean, it's designed to be sturdy, but there are people who would kill for that phone, maybe you should treat it a little nicer? That would be, I think that would be best.”

“Tony...” Pepper crossed her arms. “Take off your sunglasses, you're inside, and it's rude.”

“No, you'll freak out, and you make the most horrific shrieking noises when you're upset, I've already got a headache, the last thing I need-”

“Are you hung over? Have you been drinking again?” she asked, and dammit, she could hear the shrieky note in her voice and still couldn't do anything about it. “Tony, you can't-” He spun around, and she lunged over the desk, snatching the glasses off of his face. “You can't just- OH MY GOD!”

“There it is. There's the note,” Tony said, rubbing the unbruised side of his forehead. “It's not as bad as it looks.”

“It looks HORRIBLE. Are you okay? What happened? Oh, GOD!” She ran for the small fridge under the sideboard, fumbling in the freezer for a cold pack and snagging a bar towel. Her hands shook, just a little, and she gripped the terry just a little too hard. “Who was it? Did you- Was there a fight I didn't know about? Last night, you have to tell me these things, how am I supposed to do damage control on the stock prices if you don't warn me that you've been God knows where, doing God knows what-”

“Pepper...”

“I mean, really, I need to know when you're going to nearly get yourself killed, Tony, you owe it to me to tell me when some super villain tries to crush your skull, this company relies upon your skull being in one piece, and-” She bent over him, and her hands were shaking, because she was a wuss, she'd always been a wuss, and Tony all but hissed at her as she pressed the cold pack to the side of his eye. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine! It's a black eye! Jesus, you over react to everything!” But even as he was grousing at her, he was leaning into her hands, all but snuggling against her side. She knew better than to call him on it, instead, she just stroked his hair back from his forehead under the pretense of keeping it away from the damp towel. He sighed, and then hissed again as he shifted against the pack.

“What happened?” 

“I forgot to duck,” he said, his nose wrinkling. “Look, if you're not going to give me a nice, relaxing business trip-”

“How can I? You look like a prize fighter, Tony!”

“Then help me cover this.”

“There is not enough makeup in the world to cover this.” Pepper tucked gentle fingers under his chin and tipped his head up. She gave a faint sigh. “Really, stop fighting without the armor.”

“It wasn't a fight,” he said. “It was just-” He paused, sighed. “Steve had a bad night. It happens, sometimes, but it's never been this bad.”

“Oh, God,” Pepper said, and she could hear the horror in her own voice. “No, no, Steve would never- I mean, I'm not disbelieving you, it's just, oh, GOD, I can't believe, not Steve, he just-” She sucked in a breath, fumbling for her control. “It's okay, it's fine, we will get through this, I believe you, I love you, Tony, and we'll get through this, but no one has the right to hit you, no matter how much they claim to love you, you know that, I know your childhood was screwed up, but you know that you can't go back there, you can't go back to him, a business trip is not the answer, we need to-”

Tony was staring at her, his mouth hanging open, just a little. “Are you listening to yourself?” he asked her at last, cutting her off. “Are you- Do you have any idea of the words coming out of your mouth? Seriously, do you think that Steve Rogers, STEVE ROGERS, the guy who doesn't like wine glasses because he's afraid he'll break the stem if he gets stressed, the guy who freaked out when I got out of bed with a mild cold, the guy who cries at Disney movies and actually and truly wrings his hands when one of the team is in medical, you think he's hitting me?”

Pepper stared at him. “It's... It is pretty implausible. He's not-”

“Of course he's fucking not! He was having a nightmare, I was trying to wake him up, he clipped me with a flying elbow.” Tony glared at her. “He slept through the whole thing, I snuck out before he woke up, because if he sees this and figures out he did it, he will never sleep with me again!”

“Oh, God, he'll never sleep with anyone again,” Pepper said, and relief was a heady thing, she was actually dizzy with it for a moment. She staggered into a nearby chair, sucking in a deep breath as she collapsed into it. 

“Forgive me if I don't give a damn about the rest of humanity, he's sleeping with me right now, and I aim to keep it that way, and the primary way I will keep it that way is by keeping out of sight until my face has healed up, or some bad guy fight gives me an excuse for looking like I smashed a wall with my face.” He gave her a look. “You were really going to try to rescue me from an abusive Captain America, weren't you?” he asked, his mouth twitching.

Pepper crossed her legs. “Let's just say I'm glad that it's not going to come to that,” she said. “I am on your side, Tony.”

“Whatta do you know,” Tony said, grinning at her, and that made him wince. “He would never hurt me, Pep. I just... I don't want him to feel bad about something he didn't have any control over. I mean, you know how it gets, with the nightmares. I nearly broke your wrist that one time.”

“It was mainly the kicking. You flail like a beached whale,” Pepper said, just because she could, because she loved the insulted face he pulled out when he was playing at being indignant. She leaned forward, stroking her thumb over the angle of his cheek. “Ouch, Tony. You're lucky he didn't break your cheekbone.”

“I'm pretty tough. Not even a concussion. I had Jarvis check.”

“You are a menace,” she said, and she stood, pausing only an instant to place a delicate kiss on his good cheek. “Okay, so there's a group going to check out our factory in Shenzen. Make sure everything's on the up and up, surprise inspection, the boring nonsense you hate to do.” She crossed back to her computer. “It'll keep you out of the loop and in the wrong time zone for a few days. Avoid video conference calls and I'll explain to Steve that I made you do it to appease the contractors.”

“Perfect.” He rolled to his feet. “Give yourself a raise.”

“If I have to lie to Steve, I damn well deserve something,” she said. She paused. “Don't tell him?”

“What, that you believed that he was beating me? We'll keep that between us.” He leaned over, and brushed a careful kiss against her cheek. “You were really going to go toe to to with him to try to save me, weren't you?” he asked, and he was grinning at her, amused. But under that, there was something else, something painful, so she gave him a look.

“Don't kid yourself. I wouldn't have tried to save you.” She put his sunglasses back on. “I would've kicked his ass and put him in jail.” She stroked his hair with light fingers. “Go. Airport. I'll deal with making the arrangements. You owe me.”

“I will remain conspicuously absent and productive for a week before the next board meeting,” he said, sauntering towards the door.

“A month,” she corrected.

“You drive a difficult bargain, Potts.” He blew her a kiss. “See you in a couple of days.”

*

“You don't have to eat oatmeal, you know.”

Steve looked up, blinking, as Bruce took a seat next to him. “What?”

Bruce nodded at the bowl in front of Steve. “Your oatmeal. We, we have other things to eat.” He gave Steve a faint smile, setting down his own plate of scrambled eggs and fruit. He took a seat next to Steve, his eyes shadowed behind his glasses, his hair a tangle of salt and pepper curls. “You don't have to have the oatmeal. It's good for you, it's a good choice, but, uh, you don't need to eat it. Because the expression on your face kind of makes it seem like you're angry at your breakfast, Cap.”

Steve glanced down and realized he'd been repeatedly stabbing his cereal with the tip of his spoon. With a faint sigh, he set it aside. “I guess I'm not hungry,” he said.

“I got that.” Bruce took a sip from his tea cup, his lips curling up at the corners. “You want to talk about it?”

Steve glanced at his phone for about the tenth time in the last five minutes. “Day's just not going the way I thought it would,” he admitted. There was a morose note to his voice that he hated, but couldn't seem to do anything about. “Tony had some emergency and took off before I woke up.” He rolled his eyes. “Sorry. I sound like a child, don't I?”

Bruce stirred his tea, the movement a bit of a nervous twitch. “I think it's justified. Never fun to wake up alone when you're not expecting it.” He glanced at Steve's phone. “Have you called him?”

“No.” Steve stood, carrying his bowl. He should just throw it away, but he still couldn't make himself toss perfectly good food. And he'd be hungry later. “Maybe later,” he added, as he covered the bowl with tin foil and put it in the fridge. He grabbed the orange juice at the same time. “He's probably busy.”

“Then you could leave a message.” Bruce grinned at him. “He'll call you back as soon as he's able to, you know that.” Steve made a non-committal noise as he poured himself a cup of juice. Bruce sighed. “Steve.” When Steve glanced in his direction, Bruce arched his eyebrows, his expression gentle and chiding. “You know that, right?”

Steve groaned, leaning back against the counter. “I don't want to be that guy,” he said, his words muted. He avoided Bruce's eyes by focusing really hard on his juice. “It's just...” He sighed. “For once, neither of us had anything planned. SHIELD didn't need me, StarkIndustries didn't need him, no one needed the Avengers. I just...” He paused. Sighed. “Had plans.” He stared down at his juice. “I was looking forward to them, that's all.”

Bruce watched him, drumming his fingers on the table as he forked up a piece of melon. “Steve?” He waited until Steve looked in his direction, met his eyes. “Call Tony. If he can't pick up, he can't pick up. If he doesn't want to pick up, and I don't believe that, but if he doesn't? Then it'll go to voice mail. But he probably didn't think he'd have anything to do today, either, and now he does, and that means, he's in a lousy mood, too. So if for no other reason than for the mental sanity of the people who have to work with him? Call him.”

Steve couldn't hold back a chuckle. “Well, if it's for the benefit of others,” he said, before draining his glass in a long gulp. He rinsed it and put it in the dishwasher, feeling lighter already. “Thanks, Bruce,” he said, meaning it more than the other man probably knew.

“Any time, Cap.” Bruce gave him a smile and tossed him his phone. Steve caught it one-handed, not even slowing down as he headed for the kitchen door.

He headed to the workshop, partially because he liked it there, and partially because it gave him a few minutes to think about what he was going to say. Greeting the bots and giving them each a little attention and pulling a Roomba out of the fabrication units gave him another excuse for delay, but when he settled down on the couch, his heart was still beating a little too hard, a little too fast.

Tony picked up on the first ring. “Sorry!”

Just like that, all the strain was gone, the fear that he didn't like to think about, to acknowledge even existed. That nagging feeling that Tony would eventually get bored with him and find someone more exciting, or more cosmopolitan. Someone not more than half a century behind the times. 

Shaking off the self-pitying thoughts, Steve let his head fall back, let his eyes fall closed. “I missed you this morning,” he said, because that was one way to put it. 'I missed you' was a socially acceptable way to acknowledge that fear, that disappointment when he woke up alone, Tony's side of the bed already cool. He had felt the paper in his hand and had just clutched it for a few seconds, not willing to read it.

Caught between wanting, and not waning to know what it said.

“I know, I'm sorry,” Tony was saying. “I should've woken you up, but I thought I'd be back there by now, and you never sleep that late. I just, for once, I thought, if you were going to sleep through the night, you could sleep through the night. Without me being the one to fuck it up.”

Steve felt an uncomfortable twist in his chest, something sweet and hot all at once. “Next time? Wake me.”

“You giving orders, Cap?” Tony asked, and there was laughter in his voice, and that made it even better. 

“Any objection?”

“Not a one. Not as long as you realize that off the field? I'm not always going to obey 'em.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Steve admitted. “Like you just as you are.”

“And how's that?” Tony asked.

“A stubborn ass who sneaks out of bed without so much as a kiss good-bye,” Steve said, and Tony started laughing out loud, brash and wild and so very familiar. Steve just closed his eyes and let the sound wash over him, a balm for his jangled nerves.

“And you're okay with that?” Tony said, getting himself under control enough to form words. The laughter was still there in his voice, though. Warm and comforting.

“The stubborn ass element has grown on me,” Steve said, grinning at nothing and everything at once. “The sneaking out of bed part is unacceptable.”

“I'll work on that.”

“Please.” Steve sucked in a careful breath. “And the fact that you're not telling me when you'll be back isn't really comforting, Tony.”

“I just haven't gotten around to it,” Tony objected. Steve let the silence stretch, and heard his sigh. “At least a couple of days.”

“A couple of days,” Steve repeated, his heart sinking.

“A week. At most,” Tony rushed on, and Steve scowled at the ceiling, his mouth clamped shut against the impulse to say something childish and horrible. “You're mad,” Tony said, and it wasn't a question.

“Not... Mad,” Steve said, being careful about it. “Disappointed? Disappointed, let's go with that.”

“And a little mad,” Tony said.

“And a little mad,” Steve admitted, rubbing a hand over his face. “Not at you. Just... I thought... We didn't have anything planned. I thought we'd-” He sighed. “Just, tell me it's important?”

“If it wasn't, I wouldn't have gotten out of bed,” Tony said. He took a deep breath. “I'd offer- I'd say, that if you want me to, I'd come home, but it's a lie that I'd tell knowing that you wouldn't take me up on it. I can't come home. Not right now. All I can say, and be honest about it, is that I'll be back as soon as I possibly can.”

Steve was nodding, and caught himself doing it. “Thank you. For being honest about it.”

“I'm not really used to honesty in my relationships, it feels weird and kind of disquieting,” Tony admitted.

Grinning, Steve replied, “I'll just have to reward you for it until it feels more natural.”

“Are we talking in a sexual kind of way? Because I approve of this particular rewards system, I approve so much, you have no idea.”

“Tony...”

“I know, I know, I have to work on my euphemisms.”

“That would be nice.” Steve took a deep breath, trying to adjust to DAYS. Days of no Tony. “Where are you headed?”

“China,” Tony said. “Factory inspection. They've been blowing off the inspectors without fear of reprisal, I'm being sent to put the fear of God and Stark in them. It was me or Pepper, and Pepper has nine other things that need doing like, right now, and...” He sighed. “It's my company, Steve. I still have to keep my hand in, between heroing, and taking potshots at Richards and attending Fury's bullshit meetings, and spending time with my best fella.”

“Who's that?” Steve said, because he liked to hear it, and he liked to get a rise out of Tony when he could.

“I thought it was you. But if you're pretending not to know, then I am clearly more deeply invested in this relationship than you are, and that'll be something that we need to discuss, you and I, we might need to book some time with one of SHIELD's therapists and go over our feelings and responsibilities vis a vis this little partnership thing we're doing.”

“If I actually took you up on that,” Steve pointed out, “you would be so screwed.”

“I have faith in your good judgment. In that you know that is a horrible idea.”

“It is,” Steve agreed. “So you're going to China?”

“Me and a bunch of middle managers who have clearly been told horrible lies about me because they are glaring at me through the glass of this lounge door like I talked bad about their mothers. I am serious. If I don't come back, check the ethics and accountability department, Steve, because the woman in charge of this thing is currently filing her nails and staring at me like she's going to claw my eyes out.”

“Did you-”

“I have never, ever slept with her, sweet Mother of God, Pepper made it clear that if I started sleeping with employees, she would have me neutered. She would put a needle in my neck, and I would wake up without the use of my balls and a cone around my neck.”

“Tony-”

“I have been nothing but kindness and professionalism since I showed up, and my presence means we take the company jet over seas instead of some horrific commercial flight. I am still being treated like some one with a particularly horrific social disease.” He sounded kind of insulted. “I am using my best smile. Right now. The good one. The non-smarmy one. I have it on my face right now.”

“It's not working?”

“It is failing me completely.” Tony sighed. “But I am being signaled The jet is fueled and apparently ready to go.” He paused. “Steve? I'll be home as soon as I can. Okay?”

Steve stared at the workbench, missing its owner, and felt so alone already. “Tony? Were you going to call me? Before you left?”

“How do you think I was able to pick up so fast? I was about to call you.”

Steve let out his breath, and tried to get rid of all the bad things in his head at the same time. “Promise?”

“I swear on Dummy's charging station.”

“Dummy's going to be upset with you,” Steve warned. “Using his home like that.”

“Only with the purest intentions,” Tony said, his voice breezy. “Wish me luck, Cap?”

There was something in his voice, something that made an automatic, polite reply freeze in his throat. Steve swallowed. “I miss you already,” he said, because it was true, it was true and if it was true, there was no harm in saying it. “Stay safe, and come home as soon as you can. All right?”

Tony was silent, and Steve held his ground, not back tracking, not giving into the gnawing sense of having said too much, too soon. “All right,” Tony said at last. “Steve? It's, uh, I mean, it's nice. To have someone actually miss me. Instead of being glad for a break from me. Which is far more common. So. Yes. I'll be back home as soon as I possibly can.”

“Okay,” Steve agreed. “Good luck, Tony. I'm proud of you.”

“Yeah. So...” There was a wheedling tone to the word, long and drawn out.

Steve grinned. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. Okay. Glares are positively glacial out there. Before I'm the cause of some sort of ice age, I'm going to decamp.”

“No international incidents, Tony. Coulson's got that muscle twitching next to his eye again.”

“Which means Clint's in a bad mood, which means Natasha's in a bad mood, which means all of SHIELD is in lock down mode, which means Fury's breathing fire.” Tony paused. “Team dynamics are very complicated.”

“You're doing really well,” Steve said. “See, more positive reinforcement.”

“Can I once again suggest the sexual-”

“Get on the jet.”

“But-”

Steve glanced around, despite knowing there was no one in the workshop and no one would hear him. “If you wanted to suggest something sexual, Tony, you would've been better off waking me up this morning, instead of sneaking out of bed, where I was naked, warm, and willing.”

A beat of pause. “Willing?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Tony, if you're involved, I'm willing.” There was a faint whimper from the other end of the line that Tony tried heroically to turn into a cough. It was not his best effort.

“So, when you say 'willing,' can I get some details on that? Because, I would, I would deeply appreciate some more details, especially if it results in you talking dirty.”

“You've got a jet to catch,” Steve pointed out.

“It's my goddamn jet. It'll wait.”

“I love you. Good-bye, Tony, fly safe, call me when you get there, no matter what time it is, okay?”

“Steve, don't you dare-”

With a grin that was probably not at all befitting a national icon, Steve disconnected the call. Settling back into the leather of the couch, he sighed. “Hey, Jarvis?” he asked.

“Yes, Steve?”

“Can I...” He cleared his throat, feeling the flush climb up his face. “I just... Do you have any footage of Tony? That I could watch?”

“Of course,” Jarvis said, his voice betraying nothing, as if the request was a common one. “Do you have something in mind, or would you like me to choose?”

“If you could choose, that would be-” His face was so hot that it was painful. “Thanks, Jarvis.”

On the workshop's huge screen, Tony was sprawled out on the floor of the workshop, a pair of tight, battered jeans slung low on his hips, a black t-shirt stretched over his chest and shoulders. There were streaks of oil on his face, his neck, his shoulders, and his hands were completely black. He was working on one of his cars, but mostly, at the moment, he was having an argument with the bots, who were not concerned by his efforts to poke them with tools.

Steve took a deep breath. A couple of days. He could do this. He was not a child, he was not a jealous, irrational bully. He could do this. “This,” he said aloud, “was not how I thought today would go.”

“I'm sorry?” Jarvis asked.

“Never mind. Can you- Jarvis, can you please keep track of Tony and let me know when he's safely on the ground? Not because I want to keep tabs on him or anything, I just-” He gritted his teeth.

“I shall be pleased to let you know about any updates to his itinerary,” Jarvis said. “I will be doing the same for Ms. Potts, I shall simply inform you as well.”

Steve's mouth kicked up on one side. “Thanks, Jarvis.” He reached for his sketchbook, letting the sound of Tony's voice wash over from him, drawing comfort from it. It was fine. He could do this.

Somehow.

*

The official that met them at the airport did his absolute best not to stare at Tony's face. Which made him the eighth person so far that had tried really hard not to stare at Tony's face. Tony felt like just getting a sign and taping it a hat, a sign that said, “Oh, c'mon, we all know you're looking, just be goddamn honest about it, would you please?”

But that would likely be pretty damn awkward to maneuver in. As Ms. Nunez presented their paperwork, and their passports, Tony stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced around. He was bored already. That wasn't a good sign, but bored and pissy was worth it, if he could hold this thing together.

“Sir?”

He glanced over as one of the aides approached. “Do you require medical attention?”

Tony arched his good eyebrow. “No.” As the silence stretched, and everyone stared, he sighed. “It's my fault,” he said, aiming for a properly regretful tone. “I shouldn't have said that about her dog.” Everyone stared some more, and Tony resisted the urge to do something that would have Pepper looking up psychiatrists. “Are we set, then?” he asked, brusque and crisp. “It's been a long trip already.”

Okay, so it was a dick move, and he didn't much care, because fifteen minutes later, he was settling into the plush back seat of a limo, with a gin and tonic and a slice of lime so thin that it was almost see-through. The car was moving through the streets, and It would've been better if he'd been alone, but Disapproving Exec One and her assistant/translator, Sourpuss Prime, were crouched across the seat from him. 

Tony wondered if this was the sort of cosmic punishment that came from lying to Steve Rogers; perhaps he would be haunted by disdainful executives. It seemed like overkill, but what did he know.

“Can I ask why you hate me?” he asked, swirling the ice cubes in his tumbler. “'Cause I'm sensing a certain amount of hatred here, and I'm not precisely certain it's warranted. Or, you know, smart in terms of your eventual career track. Most people really do their best to cover their seething hatred of their boss.”

Lily Nunez stared at him, big, dark eyes as blank as empty windows. “I don't know what you're talking about, sir,” she said, and her assistant scowled at Tony. It was not a particularly threatening scowl; the boy looked like he was around twelve years old, and as a guard dog, he ranked a little lower than a pug.

“Uh-huh,” Tony said, rubbing at his forehead. “So. This is going to be the longest trip of my entire life, great, looking forward to that, please tell me that we have a hotel, a hotel with big beds and-”

“We're due at the factory within the hour,” Ms. Nunez said, her voice flat.

Tony tossed back the rest of his drink. “Wonderful.”

Her lips turned up in a pinched, horrifically insincere smile. “Any further delay gives the contractor a chance to hide or remove any contract violation. Even this is stretching things. We really don't have time for you to take a quick beauty nap.”

“Luckily I am so stunningly beautiful that this would be unnecessary,” Tony agreed. They didn't laugh. They didn't even smile. Technically, it felt like the temperature dropped a few degrees. 

“We're on a very tight schedule,” she said.

“Gotcha,” Tony agreed. He opened up the minibar and fumbled for anything with a high alcohol content. He was classy enough not to just drink it straight from the bottle. “Pepper forwarded it to me. The schedule, I mean, I got a copy of that. It's very official. Very... Packed.”

“With all due respect,” she said, her eyes sparking, “I do not appreciate my work to be used as cover for some-” She stopped, her lips forming a thin line. “This is important. We are looking for human rights violations, safety violations, things that will impact the company and these people's lives.”

Tony took off his sunglasses and squinted at her. “I am aware of this. Wait, what're you-”

“And to be suddenly overruled in my own department, because you have some hidden agenda-”

“I really don't,” Tony interrupted. “There's nothing hidden here, there's no agenda, I am here to assist you in doing a factory inspection, and that's it.”

She stared at him, her mouth still half open. She looked at William, her assistant. He looked at her. They both looked at Tony. “Sir,” she started, and Tony cut her off.

“The level of my headache cannot be properly expressed using human pain thresholds,” Tony said, as the car came to a halt. It was a little too fast, a little too hard, and Tony fumbled for a handhold on the seat, his teeth gritted. “I am done, I am finished with this conversation, and I am-”

The flash was a minute thing, barely there, but he knew metal, he knew metal and he knew arms, he knew trouble in an instant, without conscious thought, because it had been burned into him by now.

And even through a frosted window, he knew a gun when one was pointed at his head.

Tony lunged. Without thinking, he tackled her to the seat, snagging her assistant with one hand and wrenching them both downwards. The three of them tumbled to the floor of the car, and the sound of her startled shriek did nothing to drown the sound of bullets impacting the side of the vehicle. The window exploded inward, shards raining down, and Tony twisted, slamming a foot on the back of the partition between them and the driver. “DRIVE!” he howled, and just like that, the car shot forward.

They rolled back, and Tony slammed into the base of the seat, his shoulder taking the hit, and Lily was trying to get up. She was trying to get up, because she wasn't used to being shot at, and Tony needed to make sure that Pepper understood that this was unacceptable, he needed execs with a survival instinct or two, because that would make his life so much easier. He snagged her by the collar of her shirt, and yanked her back down. “STAY DOWN!” he yelled at her, and her eyes were huge, huge and black and confused, like he'd just broken her carefully cultivated sense of reality. She was blinking, eyes liquid and scared, and her lips worked their way through something that he was pretty sure was a prayer.

They took a corner too fast, too hard and too fast, and something crashed into something else, and the boy wonder assistant was making a strangled sound of pain, a bloom of red spreading over his shoulder, creeping along through the white linen of that impeccable shirt. 

The flashback was vivid and visceral, the taste of blood and dirt mixing in the back of Tony's throat like bile as the kid pitched to the side, his fingers scrambling at the fabric, leaving streaks like wounds as his hands fell away. He looked at Tony, his face helpless and confused. And for an instant, Tony couldn't remember where he was, what he was doing, there was another face, there in his head, a soldier instead of a business man, another boy with dark eyes and streaks of sweat masking the tears on his face.

Another kid lying dead in front of him.

Tony felt the liquid welling under his palms, and jolted, coming back to the present with a crash. He was already over the kid, pressing him down, pressing hard on the bullet wound to the boy's shoulder. How he'd gotten there, on his knees, his body braced, the heel of his hand pressing down hard on the wound, he didn't know, and he didn't much give a damn.

“Look at me, look at me.” And it was his voice in his ears, hard and sharp. Coming from some impossible distance. “Don't you dare close your eyes, you stay with me right now, or fuck you, you are fired. I will fire your ass, don't think I won't.” 

The shooting had stopped, had long since stopped, but the sound was still echoing, and his ears rang with it. With that and some other echo, memories that didn't stay put. He was breathing through his mouth, trying not to taste blood and bile and the hard, metallic tang of fear in the back of his throat. He coughed, gagged. “Lily, get-” His head jerked around. “I need something to stop this with-”

She was already pulling her chic scarf loose from her throat, folding it into a tight pad. “Here,” she said, her body a small crouched ball tucked up tight against the seat. Her pupils were dilated, fear in her face, her voice, but when Tony grabbed her wrist and guided her hands into place, she went. Shifting forward, she put the full weight of her tiny body on the wound, and Tony pulled away. 

He fumbled his phone out. “Jarvis, full alert, relay information to the nearest SHIELD office, get the police en route-”

“Already done, sir,” Jarvis' voice was smooth, controlled, and some of the past fell away. “Shall I contact the Avengers?”

“Isolated shooter?”

“Satellite imagery shows no further immediate threat,” Jarvis confirmed. “Medical help is approximately five minutes away, SHIELD is converging on that location now.”

“Good, monitor our location and keep them updated,” Tony said, swiping at his face without thinking about it. The smell of copper and the sticky, tacky sensation was enough to have him jerking away from his own touch, his stomach turning over.

There was blood on his hands. Literally, as well as figuratively.

“Is it-” Her voice was small, thin, strained. Tony glanced at her, trying to remind himself that not everyone was used to violence, used to the damage a bullet could do in flesh, to the sound of a man in pain. But despite the streaks of tears on her cheeks, she was steady, still now, her hands pressing down hard. The wadded fabric was red beneath her fingers, but it wasn't spreading.

“It's not good. But it's not a fatal wound.” Not if they could get him medical help. Tony leaned over the kid. “Hey. William. Will!” No response. “Bill, c'mon. Billy. Bilbo.”

The man's eyes fluttered, and Tony grinned. “That was a mistake. That was a horrible mistake, you should not have responded to that, now you're stuck with it.” 

Hazy black eyes blinked up at him. “I like 'The Hobbit,'” he said, the words slurred. “Did I get shot?”

“You got shot.” Tony grinned down at him. “You should work on that. On your ducking skills. We're gonna put that in your review, 'got blood all over your direct supervisor.'”

William grinned, off-kilter and a little hysterical. “I'll work on that,” he managed. His eyes flickered closed. “It hurts. 'M I gonna die?”

“No,” Tony said, and Jarvis was announcing their arrival at the medical facility, and he leaned over. “C'mon, kid, stay with us.”

And then the car was screeching to a stop, and the door was opening, hands reaching for them. 

*

Steve took a series of rapid-fire jabs at the punching bag, his feet shifting against the floor. He exhaled in a quick burst, enjoying the physicality of it all, the moments of being able to turn off his mind and just put his body through its paces. It was calming; he understood this, he knew what to do and how to do it. It was like grounding himself in a storm, or finding a safe harbor. He knew who he was, when it was just him and the bag and his fists, flying faster than he would've believed possible when he was a child.

Of course, he wouldn't have believed he could breathe without choking as a child, too, life had a strange way of changing in the ways he least expected.

A flicker of movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention, and broke off his attack, turning to find Natasha slipping through the door of the gym. He backed off from the bag, his hands falling to his sides. “Hey,” he said, the word caught in his exhale.

Natasha had her fingers pressed to her ear. “I've got him,” she said, even as she was giving Steve a smile. “Gym. Yes.” Her hand fell. “Sorry to interrupt, Cap. We've got a situation.”

Steve was already unwrapping his hands. “What kind of a situation?” he said, reaching for his bag. 

“Call should be coming in-” She started, just as his phone rang.

He stared her down, alarm bells blaring in the back of his mind. But he snagged the phone, recognizing Tony's ring tone. “What's going on?” he asked, skipping pleasantries and anything resembling polite behavior. Of course, he also wasn't running for his suit, so he was still holding the middle ground, that was something he could be proud of.

“I'm fine,” Tony said, and Steve's heart plummeted.

“What do you mean, you're fine?” he said, and he looked at Natasha, who was leaning against the door to the gym now. She shifted to the side as Clint and Thor slipped in. “What is going on, Tony?”

“I'm fine, I'm absolutely fine,” Tony said, and it would've been a hell of a lot more soothing if there weren't sirens in the background.

“Tony, in about thirty seconds, I'm going to punch Thor and head for the Quinjet, so can you please explain why I would think you aren't fine?”

There was a beat of silence. “Someone took a shot at the car I was riding in,” Tony said, and Steve grabbed for the wall, bracing a hand there for stability, to keep himself upright, and he wasn't aware that his fingers had formed a fist until the sudden, jarring sound of the impact. He didn't look to see if he'd just dented the masonry, but the sting of it went all the way through his body. Tony must've heard it, because his voice fell, just a little. “Cap. Steve. I'm fine. I'm absolutely fine. I'm not-”

“Where are you now?”

A faint sigh, probably inaudible to anyone who didn't have Steve's hearing. “Hospital. One of my employees was hit. We're under guard, but until he's-”

“How bad?” The words were clipped, calm. He could control this. He could hold himself together.

“Caught it high in the chest. He'll pull through. But he lost a lot of blood.” Tony sucked in a breath. “And a lot of it ended up on me. Someone got a picture, camera phone or something, I didn't want you to see it online and-” He broke off.

Steve took a slow, careful breath, trying to get his heartbeat back under control. His hand ached from where he'd punched the wall, and he told himself that was why his fingers were shaking as he scraped them over his face. “Yeah. I appreciate that.” He dropped his hand, looked up, and his team was there. He tipped his chin towards the door, and Natasha shook her head. Her eyes were shadowed, and Steve wondered if Coulson, or someone else from SHIELD had woken her up, had woken them all up. It was still early. 

“I'm fine,” Tony repeated. “We're under guard, both from the company, and the police, and no one can give me an adequate explanation of what happened.”

“Someone's gunning for you?” Steve suggested, because that was his nightmare, that was always there in his head, waiting to rip him apart. 

“No one knew I was coming. This wasn't announced,” Tony said. “They might've been after the StarkIndustries team, but there's no way this is aimed at me, specifically.”

“Doesn't really matter who it's aimed at, if you get hit,” Steve pointed out. “What are you doing out there, Tony?”

“We are doing an inspection. That's it. No hidden agenda, Steve, you know Pepper wouldn't sign off on me doing anything that would put the company into a bad position.” He paused. “I'm here to do a fucking inspection. That's it. It was a drive-by, Steve.”

“Tony, I think-” He snapped his teeth together, because there was no way this conversation would go well. “You have the suitcase suit?”

“Yes. It was in the trunk with the rest of the luggage, I know, I know,” Tony said. “I've got it now. I'll keep in within reach.”

“Please,” Steve said. He turned back to his bag, keeping his head down, his voice low. “Do not lie to me right now, Tony. Do not. You aren't hurt.”

“Clipped by flying glass, that's it.” His voice was warm.. “I am fine. I swear, Steve. Don't go looking for pictures online, okay?”

“Be careful,” Steve said, ignoring that entirely. Because they both knew he would. “I really need you to be safe.”

“I know.” There were voices in the background. “We're being moved to the hotel. I will call you later, all right?”

“Please,” Steve agreed. He paused, and said the words with care. “I love you, and I need you to be safe.”

“I know. I love you, too. Talk to you, soon.”

Steve didn't hang up. He waited until the line went dead, and even then, he was strangely reluctant to lower the phone from his ear. When he did, he glanced back over his shoulder at the trio that was standing by the door. “Let me see,” he said.

“I don't think-” Natasha started, and Clint tossed Steve a tablet. Natasha gave him a cutting look, and he shrugged.

“If he doesn't see it, he's going to make it much worse in his head,” Clint said. “It's bad, but it's not that bad, Nat, and you know it.” Natasha hissed something at him in Russian, and Clint took it in stride. “What'd my mother ever do to you, lady?”

Steve stared down at the image, struggling to find distance, to put it in perspective. Tony was upright, not being held or carried, he was on his own feet, his back straight, his legs steady, and he was on his phone, his sunglasses and the phone pressed against his cheek hiding his face. It was even possible that if someone didn't know him well, they might not recognize him at all. 

But Steve would know him, would always recognize the shape of his hands and the way he stood when he was stressed, and the way his hair fell when he'd been running his fingers through it. Steve was pretty sure he'd recognize Tony, no matter how bad the photo was.

He really wished in this one that the front of Tony's suit wasn't splattered with blood. 

Tony's hand was flecked with dark, dried patches, obvious as he held his phone to his cheek. It was there on the cream of his shirt, and on the side of his neck, spatter or contact, Steve wasn't sure which. But he hated it, the way it stained the side of Tony's hip, ruined his jacket, marked his skin. Steve's fingers tightened on the edge of the tablet until the screen went blurry. 

He forced his fingers to relax. “What's going on?” he asked.

Natasha didn't pretend to misunderstand. “We don't know,” she said. “Coulson's doing some checking, fast as he's able.”

Steve glanced at Thor and Clint. Clint shrugged. “I was just told that your boy had gotten himself into another scrape and we might need to be around to keep you from toppling a foreign government. I leave the whys and wherefores to my better half.”

Thor nodded, pushing a hand through his disordered hair. “Aye,” he agreed. “It was possible you would need another hand, and that, we could provide.”

Steve set the tablet down. “Thank you.” He sucked in a careful breath. “How long until Coulson knows anything?”

“Hard to say,” Phil said as he slipped in behind Clint, his fingers lingering on the other man's shoulder. “SHIELD is making discreet inquiries about the situation, but it's all complicated by our official relationship with StarkIndustries.”

“We have an official relationship with StarkIndustries?” Clint asked, ambling over to one of the benches to take a seat.

“SHIELD has determined that it's in our best interests not to piss off Pepper Potts,” Coulson said. “In that we, as an organization, are rather afraid of her.”

Natasha's lips kicked up at the corners. “Sounds reasonable.”

“Reasonable risk assessment is my forte,” Phil agreed. “So we're waiting to properly deal with whomever StarkIndustries decides to act as our liaison.”

“That's going to go well, the PR division over there has a life expectancy akin to a Doombot's with a severe electrical short,” Clint said. “We're lucky to get to talk to the same person twice in a row.”

“Yes, well, I don't work for StarkIndustries, so we're stuck with whomever they assign us that has the proper clearances,” Phil said.

Steve's head snapped around. “What was that?”

Everyone stared at him. His head tipped to the side, Coulson repeated, “I don't work for StarkIndustries.”

He felt the smile bloom across his face, slow but unstoppable. “What do you know,” Steve said, reaching for his bag. “I do. Who wants to find out just what my clearance is?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which people make bad decisions and are aware of it and discuss their poor decision making.

Pepper knew she shouldn't have gotten involved with this.

With a growing sense of doom, she considered the alert that was flashing on her screen. With a shake of her head, she reached for the phone. 

"Rogers."

"Hi, Steve," she said, relaxing back into her chair. She reached for her coffee cup, wishing she'd gone for the extra espresso shot this morning, it looked like she was going to need it. "It's Pepper. How're you today, and what're you doing in the StarkIndustries servers?"

"Just fine, thank you, Pepper, and digging for information about Tony's latest trip," he said without a beat of pause. “How're you?”

Pepper choked on a laugh. "Always a straight shooter, aren't you?"

"It cuts down on the amount of time we spend lying about a situation that you're clearly already aware of," he said, his voice apologetic. "Seemed prudent and efficient."

"I've got a pretty busy calendar, so I do appreciate that." She took a sip of coffee.

"How did you figure it out so fast?" he asked.

Pepper flipped her tablet around. "Tony has an alert set to go off if you access the company network in any way." She smiled. "In that he takes this as a sign of attention, and he does so love attention. Anything that proves that you're interested in his work is generally taken as a good sign, but I'm getting the feeling that this does not have anything to do with the company's third quarter plans.”

For a long moment, Steve didn't say anything. “It doesn't,” he admitted at last. “Pepper, you know what's happened?”

“I got the information as soon as it happened.” She felt some of the stress go out of her shoulders, her back. Thank God, Tony had called Steve. That, at least, was one less problem that she'd have to figure out how to deal with. “We don't have any explanation for the attack, Steve.”

“Pepper?” He paused. “I know what I'm seeing here, what I'm reading. But-”

“It's a factory inspection,” Pepper said, in her best CEO voice. The one she usually reserved for overreaching reporters with inappropriate questions at press conferences. Polite, but firm and confident. Brooking no nonsense and no backtalk.

“Is that the only reason he made this trip?” Steve asked, and the question came so fast it caught her off-guard.

“Yes,” she said, but the pause was there, they'd both heard it, that beat of a delay that indicated she'd stumbled on the answer that shouldn't have required it. She resisted the urge to curse. “Steve-”

“Thanks, Pepper,” he said, and his voice was kind. “I'll talk to you later, thanks for the call.” 

The call ended so fast that she didn't have time to do more than say a polite good-bye. Still off-balance, Pepper stared at her phone. “Well, fuck,” she said, resigned. 

*

The hotel had a certain industrial lack of charm. Okay, so it was an amazingly over plush, over decorated, over fancy piece of nonsense. But it could've been decorated by committee, no humanity, no personal touch.

Just a bunch of gold bathroom fixtures and mirrors on every surface not covered in gilt and silk.

Tony considered his options, and didn't much care for any of them. “Food,” he said to the guards that StarkIndustries had assigned, a humorless pack of blank faced goons. Tony liked blank faced goons, so long as they were on his side. “Booze.” He held up a bill of a rather ludicrous denomination. “Not the crap this hotel'll be forcing on me, something spicy and hot and fattening for the food, and with an alcohol content that could drop a horse for the booze.”

The leader of the pack might've cracked a smile, and there was a very real chance that it would result in cracking. But the bill disappeared, and he said a few clipped words to a couple of his men. They disappeared down the hall, their movements almost synchronized. Tony tried not to think about how creepy that was.

“Anything else, sir?” the man in charge asked. “Something for your face?”

“No big deal,” Tony said. “Customs just got a little rougher than I thought they would at the airport.” The man stared at him blankly, and Tony sighed. “That's it for now, thank you, my good man.” Tony gave him an overly enthusiastic grin and retreated back into his room. Shutting the door, he locked it, and set about blocking any listening devices or cameras that might be in place. A couple of distinctly off-the-books inventions in place and humming along, he relaxed enough to strip off his jacket and his tie. There were flecks of dried blood across his shirt, and he knew he should find something else to wear, but right now? He was too tired to dig through his luggage.

Instead, he grabbed his tablet, and the suitcase suit, and retreated to the bed.

Kicking off his shoes, he flopped down, all loose limbs and aching bones. His stomach was empty, his head throbbed, and his face was sore. He poked at his tablet, more for idle distraction than for any real interest. But after flicking through a couple of menus, an alert caught his eye.

He straightened up, eyes going wide. “Hellllllo,” he said, grinning. Just to check the findings, he pulled up the StarkIndustries servers and started rolling through the access logs. It only took him a few moments to locate Steve's employee id, and he burst out laughing. “Oh, wonderful,” he said. He placed the call with a flick of his finger, still digging through the data.

“Hi, Tony,” Steve said. “Aren't you supposed to be asleep?”

“Too keyed up. Whatcha doing?” Tony asked, grinning at the ceiling.

There was a long pause. “Nothing in particular,” Steve said, his voice careful. “Why do you ask?”

“Because someone's using your employee id to dig around StarkIndustries servers, I'm kinda hoping that someone is you, because if it's not, we have a problem,” Tony said. He put his feet up on the desk, waiting for Steve to puzzle his way out of this one.

Steve sighed. “It's me.”

“I kinda figured.” 

“How long did it take for Pepper to tell you?”

Tony's eyebrows arched. “PEPPER knew?” he asked. “Oh, I'll be having words with my CEO, keeping important information from me, that's not acceptable.”

“I'm sure she'll bring you up to date about our conversation later. You're supposed to be asleep, and she knows you.”

“Uh-huh.” Tony grinned at the tablet. Eh, what the hell. He went to work. “What're you looking for?”

“Details about your trip,” Steve said, and Tony's fingers paused, hovering in mid-air for a bare moment before he went back to work.

“You didn't even consider lying about that, did you?”

“I try not to, Tony. I mean, here I am, digging through your company's computer database, looking for information about your current activities. Taken out of context, that's pretty controlling and shows a distinct lack of trust.” He paused. “Even in context, it's pretty lousy.”

Tony flicked a glance at the access logs. “You're still doing it,” he said, trying not to laugh.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Steve said. “I might be a lousy human being, but I can at least be honest about it.”

“You're not a lousy human being,” Tony said, finishing his work. “And if I didn't want you in the SI database, Captain Rogers, I wouldn't have, oh, I don't know, given you full access?”

“Still doesn't excuse how I'm using it.”

“Still doing it,” Tony said, and he was laughing out loud now. 

“Yep.”

A thought caught him off guard, and the laughter died in his throat. “You know I'm not cheating on you, right?”

“I am not even going to dignify that with a response, Stark,” Steve said. 

Tony's shoulders relaxed. “Good. Because, I know, I mean, I don't have the best reputation, and I could see why you might think-”

“No,” Steve said, cutting him off. He stopped, cleared his throat. “I don't think you're- No.” 

Tony grinned at nothing in particular. “The faith is a nice thing. Pretty stupid, I'm pretty sure anyone would tell you that, but still. Nice.” He flicked his finger against the tablet. “You could just ask me what's going on, Steve.”

“You lie when you think it's in my best interest,” Steve said.

Tony froze. “No, I don't,” he said, and it sounded unnatural even to his ears.

“That, right there? That was another lie.” Steve, luckily, sounded amused.

“It's not that I lie when I think it's in your best interest, it's just that I don't want you to worry about certain things, and you have a slight tendency to become concerned,” Tony said, waving a hand in mid-air. “I just don't want you to-”

“Tony, you do realize I'm going to worry? That you trying to downplay the danger you're in is not going to change that?” He gave a faint huff of a breath that might've been a laugh. “In fact, the idea that you're in danger and not telling me actually makes it worse.”

“Steve. I'm always in varying amounts of danger,” Tony pointed out. “It's a side effect of being me.”

“That does explain why I'm always kind of worried.” Steve's voice was wry, and Tony grinned. “We find our ways around it.”

“We do. That's why this relationship is built on a solid foundation of lies and suspicious spying.”

“Well, when you put it that way, Tony, it just seems horribly wrong,” Steve said, a faint thread of humor running through the words, and Tony burst out laughing. All of a sudden, he was swamped with a feeling of homesickness, and all he wanted to do was go home, snag Steve by the collar and drag him off to bed. He let his head fall back on the pillow, telling his body that being horny right now was not going to do him any good. 

“I miss you,” he said, shifting on the plush blankets.

“I miss you, too.”

“Phone sex?” he asked, because it was worth a try.

Steve choked, his breath fading into a bout of coughing. “No,” he managed at last.

“You're not alone, are you?” Tony asked, grinning.

“I am not,” Steve said, his voice still strangled.

“Hold on for a second,” Tony said, and put him on hold. Grinning, he dialed another number. 

“Really, Stark?” Clint asked as soon as he picked up. “Really? This is why you have a reputation for being a dick. It's because you're a dick.”

Tony ignored that slander. “Is he bright red?”

“Of course he is, stop messing with him. Why'd you call me?” 

“Because Natasha'll be the one helping him with the archives, and Coulson wouldn't have picked up at all,” Tony said. “Take a picture for me? I miss his blush.”

“He is going to hang up on you.”

“Nah, that'd be rude and he's not-” The call ended abruptly, and, laughing, Tony switched back to Steve. “Sorry about that, had to-”

“Tony.”

“Yes?” Tony asked, drawing the word out with intent, low and husky and full of promises of a sexual sort.

“You are incorrigible.”

“You love it.”

“I could do with out it, to be honest,” Steve said, and he was trying to sound stern and unamused, but he wasn't particularly good at it. “Natasha said you're on a factory inspection.”

“Natasha is a woman of intelligence and insight,” Tony agreed. “In that I'm here for a factory inspection.”

“That's the only reason you're there?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” Tony said, and mentally cursed as he heard the verbal skip in the word. He gritted his teeth, waiting for Steve to call him on it.

“Okay,” Steve said, his voice easy. “It's late there. Get some sleep, Tony.”

“I'll talk to you tomorrow,” Tony said. “Hey? I love you. You know that, right?”

“I know that,” Steve said. “I love you, too. Stay safe.”

Tony ended the call and pulled up his messages. There was a simple one from Pepper: Steve knows something's up. Tony sighed. “Wonderful,” he muttered under his breath. “He caught both of us in a lie. This is going to be a disaster.” Tossing his phone aside, he glanced at the suitcase armor. It was beside the bed, within reach, and so tempting that his fingers twitched.

There was a knock at the door, and he sighed. Rolling to his feet, he crossed the room and grabbed the handle. “That was fast-” he started, checking the peephole. Instead of a blank faced man in an ill-fitting black suit, Lily Nunez was standing there, her shoulders back, her chin up, her big brown eyes huge in her pale face. She'd put on a clean suit, combed her hair, fixed her makeup, and changed her purse to match her new outfit, but the strain of the day was there in the line of her jaw, in the way her hand shook, just a little, as she raised it to knock again.

Tony's eyes narrowed. He could work with this. His fingers moving quickly, he unbuttoned his shirt, and untucked it, leaving it hanging loose around his body. Ruffling his hair with both hands, he slapped a welcoming expression on his face and opened the door.

Lily took in his state of dress with a glance and just gaped at him.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the door frame, a grin on his face. She blinked, her face twisting in an expression of disapproval, but before she could say anything that would ruin his plans, he stepped back, waving her into the room. She took a step forward, and Tony settled a hand in the small of her back, nudging her forward until he could shut the door.

“Mr. Stark, I didn't come here for-” she said, her voice holding a wary note, and Tony waved her off.

“Something's going on here, and I don't trust the guards that we've been assigned,” he said, pitching his voice low. He stepped back, giving her plenty of space. “I'm going over there tonight, but I'm doing it without an escort. So if you don't want to be part of that, you can go now, no harm, no foul, but you're here, and I could use your help.”

Her eyes narrowed, sharp and intelligent. “I agree, there's something wrong with this situation. William is still at the hospital, so we're short a trusted translator. What's the plan?”

“I like you. Remind me to give you some sort of monetary expression of that liking in your next check,” Tony said, grinning. He snagged the suitcase armor and flipped it up onto the bed. “I've got food coming. Food and alcohol. Wasn't planning on you, but you make a very nice blind to what's actually happening. So I'm sorry, but your reputation might take a hit here.”

She gave a faint snort. “With these guys? I don't care. You're going to imply we're having sex.”

“When they come back with the food, I'm going to answer the door in a sheet, tip them well, and imply that I would really, really appreciate that they don't bother us for quite some time.” Tony grinned. “The average male will believe that particular excuse. It'll buy me some time.”

“They're guarding the door, and the doors to the balcony are hermetically sealed,” she said. “I checked.”

“But not alarmed,” Tony said, grinning. “I checked. I can cut my way out without a problem. There's a chance I'll be spotted, but now? They're going to think you're keeping me busy. They're going to relax a bit. As long as I keep low and don't make a show of myself, I might be able to pull this off.”

“Are you capable of that?” Lily asked, and Tony laughed.

“Not really, but hell, I'll give it my best shot.” He shrugged. “Hopefully I'll get over there and back before morning. You'll be safe here.”

“I want to come with you,” she said.

Tony paused in the act of messing up the bed. “What? No.”

She nodded. “Yes. Do you know anything about the factory layout? Where the access points are? Where we'll find the potential trouble spots? Because I've been studying the blueprints for weeks now. I could find my way through blindfolded.”

“Jarvis has the blueprints. It's not safe.”

“It's safer here?” she said. “If you do get spotted, you know, flying your shiny self through the city, and they come bursting in here? What am I supposed to do then?”

Tony met her eyes, considering. “It's not safe,” he stated.

“I'll take my chances.” She leaned forward, her words coming fast. “Do you speak any Chinese at all? Any dialect?”

“Not much,” Tony admitted. “But Jarvis can translate, and William-”

“William was along as a translator, but I understand more than I let on. I'm not fluent, but I can keep us afloat, and I know what I'm doing.” She gave him an obstinate look. “Take me with you, or let me leave now. I'm not going to sit here and wait for someone to walk in and put a bullet in my head.”

Tony nodded, slowly. “Okay. We need to find you something more practical to wear-”

She held up her purse. “Black yoga pants and long sleeved shirt and sneakers,” she said. “Just in case.” For the first time, she grinned, and it looked natural and real. “You do have a reputation.”

“In a lot of things. Go get changed.”

*

“We might be overreacting,” Steve said, reluctant to say it, but knowing it had to be said. “We have to acknowledge that there is a possibility that we are overreacting.”

“Probably.” Natasha tossed her bag to the side and slid into place next to him. “But we are very, very good at that. Professionals, even.”

“Professional overreactors?” Bruce asked, ducking into his seat. He reached for his seat belt, checking the straps with his usual care. “I don't really think that's something you should admit to.”

“Admit to? It's on my damn resume. Featured prominently.” Clint grinned as he started the checks. “Besides, it's not really like we can hide the fact, Doc. We're stealing the Quinjet to fly to China to make sure that Tony Stark isn't up to no good. When we're all pretty much sure that he's up to no good.”

“In that this is his natural state, yes.” Natasha stowed a couple of silver cases beneath the seats. “And we aren't stealing it. Technically, we left Tony a note.”

“I like falling on the right side of 'technically,'” Clint said. “It's so comforting.”

“This isn't a good idea,” Steve said, stating the obvious. Because at this point, he felt it needed to be stated. Everyone looked in his direction. Steve met their eyes without flinching.

“I know not of what you speak,” Thor said, sprawled out in three or four seats. His feet dangled off the end of the row anyway. “It has been much quiet as of late, and I grow restless. A flight will do us all good, aye?” He held up one clenched fist in a gesture both cheerful and threatening. The muscles of his arm flexed with the movement, and he grinned at them. 

“I do like to fly,” Clint said, innocence personified. Natasha rolled her eyes, but a faint smile was playing around her lips as she reached for her headset. “Why should Stark get to have all the fun?”

“I'm not certain this should count as 'fun,'” Steve cautioned. He scrubbed a hand over his face, releasing his breath in a hard, sharp huff. “This isn't healthy.”

“Listen, Cap, we'd argue with you, but I don't know if anyone on this plane can define a healthy relationship, let alone give you a practical example,” Clint said, running through the pre-flight checklist with practiced ease. “Besides, you always want to make everything about you. It's not attractive. I'm just saying. Not everything is about you. Can't we be obsessively worried about Tony's obvious lies as well, or do you consider that your personal domain?”

Steve gave him a look. Clint grinned at him, eyelashes fluttering. “What?” Clint said, innocence personified.

“Thank you for trying to distract me, but-”

Natasha turned in her seat. “Steve,” she said, her voice gentle. “I understand what you're saying. I think we all do. And I know you're trying to be rational. That's admirable. But you're not alone in your feeling that there is something off about this situation.” She waved a hand at the rest of them, the gesture almost languid it was so unrushed. “Every single one of us has survived this wrong by trusting in our gut instincts. I respect that little voice in the back of my head that tells me that something is wrong. Because that little voice keeps me alive.” Her lips curled up. “And right now, that little voice is screaming that something is wrong, that Stark is lying to us, and that he could be in trouble.” 

She glanced around. “Anyone else?”

Clint snorted. “Stark is lying to us, and he's almost always in trouble.” He flicked a sequence of switches with a twitch of his fingers. 'Why are we still discussing this?”

Steve took a deep breath, his shoulders bunching up with the force of it. “I don't think-”

Bruce touched his arm, his touch gentle. “Cap? How about we say that this is our call, and you're just along for the ride?”

“That's not-”

Coulson strode on board, a file in his hand. “How about we say it's mine?” he asked, holding up the folder. “SHIELD keeps track of StarkIndustries interests abroad.”

“Why?” Thor asked, rolling into a sitting position.

“Because Stark's tech is something that we consider important for matters of national, even world, security,” Coulson said, his voice wry. “SHIELD watches quite a few high tech firms, but Stark's companies are of special interest, both for what he's producing, and for his personal involvement.” 

He handed Steve the folder. “We have confirmation of unusual activity at the factory that StarkIndustries uses in Shenzhen. Accelerated shipments, a sharp increase in power usage, and irregularities in personnel. Nothing big. Nothing that SHIELD considered worthy of further investigation. Not yet.”

“But?” Steve asked, already flipping through the pages of satellite shots and neatly arranged text.

“But there are rumors starting to float around. Stark's always paid his workers well, better than average, so his plants are usually always fully staffed.” Coulson paused. “Despite that? The factory keeps hiring.”

“Well, that seems ominous,” Clint deadpanned.

“People have started to say that those that get hired? Never come back home.”

“Wonderful,” Bruce said. He headed for his seat. “Let's go.”

“Any confirmation?” Steve asked, but he was heading for his usual spot as well, still scanning the information as he took his seat.

“If there had been, we would've moved. Or encouraged the local authorities to move,” Coulson said. “Just rumors for now. But something's off. Reports have started to filter back to StarkIndustries. Nothing big. But enough to trigger a minor investigation. That's why they've sent a delegation to do a contractually allowed inspection.” He paused. Cleared his throat. “The delegation didn't include Tony until about an hour before they were scheduled to leave.”

Steve's fingers tightened on the pages, the paper creasing in his hand. He took a deep breath, and forced his muscles to relax. “How do we know this?” he asked, and he was proud of himself. His voice was evenly modulated, controlled.

When he looked up, Coulson's eyes were shuttered, unreadable. His mouth quirked up in a faint, kind smile. “Do you really want the answer to that question?” he asked.

“No,” Steve said, through gritted teeth. He frowned down at the pages. Damn him. Sometimes he was certain that Tony was trying to make him insane. He wasn't sure he cared. “You're certain the information is correct?” He snapped the folder shut.

“Yes.”

Steve nodded, and gave up. “Let's move, people.” He reached for the seat belt. He'd regret this later, he knew he would, he'd question his judgment and his morals, but for now, all he wanted was to be there if Tony did need help. He'd hate himself for the rest of it later. Much, much later.

“At last,” Thor said, a building rumble of force. “Let us go and provide a strong arm or two to the battle of our brother.” He grinned. “Have we a plan?”

“Natasha?” Coulson said, taking a seat. “You brought the gear?”

“Yes, sir,” she said, even as she helped Clint with the last of the checks. “Who's going in?”

“You, me, and Cap.”

“Going in?” Steve asked, frowning.

“Some small... Alterations have been made to the expected inspection team,” Coulson said, without so much as turning an eyelash. “In the wake of the recent injuries, some names have been added. Natalie Rushman, from legal and Roger Stevens, from the Tech department.”

“That is the worst pseudonym I've ever heard,' Bruce said.

“No, there really is a Roger Stevens working in IT,” Steve said. “I met him a couple of months ago.”

“Well, that's-” Bruce shook his head. “And you?” he asked Coulson.

“Paul Carlson, from International Relations,” Phil said. “We've made the necessary alterations to the company database. If they have the ability to go poking, they'll find just what we want them to do.”

“Pepper help you with that?” Clint asked.

“We've chosen not to notify Ms. Potts about the current plan,” Phil said, sounding pained. “In that she appears to be-”

“On Tony's side,” Steve finished for him. “She's going to kill us.”

“Possibly.” Coulson sighed. “For now, it is the best plan we have. The three of us will head to the factory with the appropriate paperwork. The rest of you will remain as backup.”

“Question,” Bruce said. “What if you're recognized?”

Phil's lips twitched. “Oh, Natasha is very good at hiding her colleagues in plain sight. We've got everything we need to make sure that no one will look twice at any of us.”

Steve frowned. “How?”

Natasha glanced over her shoulder. “Don't worry,” she said, her lips curling up. “By the time we're done with you, Cap, you'll fit right into the IT department. Luckily, your hair will grow back quickly, because we're going to make some changes.”

Steve reached up, his fingers just brushing against his hair. “Changes?”

“Sacrifices must be made,” Clint said, chuckling. “Hold on. We're cleared for take off, and we've got a long way to go.”

*

“Are you fucking kidding me.” It wasn't really a question. 

“I know.”

Tony waved at the crates. “I mean- Are they kidding me?”

“No.”

“I don't believe this!”

“Neither do I,” Lily said, almost spitting the words out. “My assistant got shot over toys?”

“Bootlegs. Not toys. Well, toys. But bootleg toys.” Tony shifted closer to the wall, his eyes narrowed. “Big money. Big business.” He tossed the carded action figure back into the box and slapped it shut. It had taken them a couple of hours to get the lay of the land around the factory, and make it this far without being seen. All in all, it was kind of a disappointment.

“He got shot over TOYS,” Lily hissed.

“I'm not saying that their priorities are in any way correct or even sane,” Tony said, flipping the visor of the suit down. “I'm just saying that someone is making bootleg toys of my alter ego in the same factory that we're using to produce proprietary SI tech, so when we showed up, they may have panicked and over reacted to the potential consequences.”

Lily's head swiveled in his direction, with the slow, smooth grace of a snake finding something that might just be tasty. “Over reacted?” she said, the words a harsh, strained whisper.

“Overreacted,” Tony confirmed. “Just a tiny bit. The guns. The guns were an overreaction.” He shifted forward, using the shadows of the factory building to get a better line of on the delivery dock without exposing himself. His eyes narrowed as the HUD presented him with a constant scroll of information. A little too late,Tony recognized the icy silence from Lily, and he spared her a glance. “Bilbo's gonna be just fine, he's under guard and has the best medical care, no loss of function, no permanent damage and chicks dig bullet scars.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

“No?”

“No.” She crouched down, flinching just the tiniest bit as a truck rumbled by, rolling through the fenced compound towards another building, the headlights not making much difference in the sooty gloom of where they were hiding. Still, she had good instincts, and Tony wasn't about to discourage them. “Chicks do not dig bullet scars.”

“I learn something new every day.” Tony waited until the truck was well out of the way before he started moving. “Stay here.”

“Where are you going?” She snagged his arm with one strong hand, and Tony paused.

“In there,” he said, waving his free hand at the rear receiving door of the factory. A handful of battered boxes had been left on the receiving dock, a half hearted attempt at clearing the illicit merchandise from the factory. Most of the packing crates had been hauled off by a fleet of trucks as the two of them had hovered beyond the factory fence. Tony didn't know what he thought about these last few boxes being left behind, unattended, but he knew that any answers he was going to get were going to involve going inside.

He was kind of looking forward to it.

“You're risking your life over bootleg action figures?” she said, and Tony flipped the visor up.

“The thing is,” he said, his voice very quiet, very even, “You're right. It is an over reaction. A very big over reaction. And some part of me wants to know why. I mean, people have done stupider things for money, I know that, but still. This feels-” He brought the visor down. “Like something more. Jarvis, can you bring-”

A sudden blare of an alarm cut him off, almost mid-word, and just like that, the HUD went blank, disappearing and sending the armor into automatic backup mode. Beneath the blaring of the sirens, Tony muttered, “Okay, that's not good.”

“No, it's not,” Lily said, ducking down behind the boxes. “Maybe we should get-”

Before she could finish the sentence, a series of flood lights snapped to life, illuminating the fence and just about every inch of the factory grounds. The shadows that they'd used to get in were wiped out in a matter of moments, leaving the grounds lit like midday. 

“This is probably bad,” Lily said, pressing her back against the wall.

“Yes. It is.” Tony did another quick check of his systems. “Jarvis?” No response. “Lily, check your phone. Do you have reception?”

She fumbled it out. “No,” she said, after a quick glance. “What is-”

“Some sort of dampening field. I can't make contact, either.” He bit back a curse. “I think we better-” He heard the sound of footfalls, a lot of feet, moving fast, and made a split second decision. Grabbing Lily's arm, he wrenched open the loading bay door, going in first, keeping the armor between her and any potential weapons that could be brought to bear on them.

In this, however, they were in luck. The receiving bay was empty, just a lot of cover from plastic wrapped pallets of boxes and random equipment. Lily ducked behind the nearest pallet without him even having to prompt her, folding down and crouching close to the ground. Tony stepped around her, glancing around the room, his eyes narrowed as the armor's systems did their best to locate any threats. 

“Door in the far corner,” he whispered to Lily. “You said you knew the layout?”

She took a deep breath. “Uh, yes, that should be the stairwell to the operating floor. There's a freight elevator, too, just beyond that, on the west wall.”

“Yeah.” Tony reached for her hand. “Don't like being here. Too exposed. We're going to make for the stairs.”

There was the rumble of trucks outside, and raised voices, clatter of metal on metal, and Lily flinched. “Agreed.” She latched onto his gauntlet covered fingers, and pushed herself up. “Let's go.”

“This still feels like an over reaction,” Tony muttered, folding himself around Lily and hustling them both towards the door. “I mean, what the hell do they think they're doing?”

“Do you think they've noticed we're missing?” Lily asked, her breath coming in hard, fast little bursts, but she wasn't winded, she wasn't struggling.

“They shouldn't have, the rest of the inspection team is back at the hotel, and they should think we're still doing the horizontal mambo, so why would they have tried to check on us?” The staircase door was solidly locked, and a quick jab of his hand snapped the bolt. He shoved it open and a quick glance let him know that everything was clear. A moment later, he was running down the stairs, Lily right on his heels. “Bootleg toys are one thing, but this is just getting ridiculous. Why are they so-”

He paused at the landing, peering through the small, wire woven glass panel set into the door. For a moment, he just stared, his brain running through every swear word he'd ever known.

“What is it?” Lily asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Tony stared into the hallway, at the familiar, yellow-suited forms that were running along the corridor. “Unless, of course,” he said, his voice drawn thin with rage, “AIM is here. Unless someone was stupid enough to give AIM access to my tech. At my own factory.”

Lily stared at him. “You have to be fucking kidding me,” she said.

“I really wish I were.” Tony grabbed her arm. “Downstairs. As fast as you can. Run.”

*

“What do you mean, he's gone?” Steve asked, through a clenched jaw. He made a distinct effort to relax. “We need some clarification here, Pepper.”

There was a faint sigh over the phone line. “He was supposed to be in for the night at the hotel. There was a fire alarm. He didn't come out, so they went in. The room was empty.”

“Anyone who's shocked, raise your hand,” Clint muttered. Natasha gave him a look, which didn't do anything for the way he was muttering under his breath.

Steve took a deep breath. “Pepper? Does this fire alarm feel particularly unlikely, or is it just me?”

“Unlikely enough that the SI representatives that were still on site immediately contacted the home office.” He heard her sigh over the line. “I can't get in touch with him, Steve.”

Steve glanced at Coulson, who had his phone at his ear already. He was expecting the faint, almost invisible flick of Coulson's head, but still, it hit him like a body blow. He sucked in a breath. “Understood. We're nearly on site, Pepper.” He paused, his hands braced hard on the edge of the bulkhead. “Pep, I know I've asked you this before-”

“I set up this business trip, Steve,” she said, her voice tired. “I sent him there. There was no hint of intrigue or danger. Just a factory inspection.”

Steve took a deep breath, and let it out. He picked up the commline, and switched it over to the headset. “Pep,” he said, his voice crisp, as unemotional as he could make it. “I know you're lying about something. If he's in danger right now, I need to know why.”

She paused. “He had his reasons for taking this trip,” she said at last. “They were good reasons. But they had nothing to do with a mission, with anything dangerous, or with anything secret about the company.”

“You're saying it was personal,” Steve said, and her silence was answer enough. “Okay. Keep us updated, Pepper.”

“I will. Find him for me, okay, Steve?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Steve removed the comm unit from his ear and resisted the very real urge to throw it against the nearest bulkhead. “Son of a-” he muttered.

“No go?” Bruce asked.

“No go,” Steve said. “She says there wasn't any sign of danger when he left.”

“I think we can agree that Tony could take a charity personal appearance at the opening of a dog park and somehow end up in mortal peril,” Clint said. “he's got a talent.”

“You're not helping,” Natasha told him.

“Well, I'm trying,” Clint said. “That should count for something.”

“Has there been any word from our friends at SHIELD?” Thor asked, his elbows braced on his knees, his face set in a frown.

“No, neither has there been any word from our enemies at SHIELD,” Coulson deadpanned. “They're doing their best, but at this point, we're the closest team to the issue.”

“The issue being Tony,” Natasha said. “Plan B?”

“Plan B,” Steve agreed. “Let's go, Natasha.”

“Don't worry, Cap. This won't hurt a bit.”

*

The factory floor on the lowest level of the compound was still and quiet. The machines and conveyer belts weren't running, the computer banks shut down. Despite this, hundreds of employees were clustered together in the center of the expansive space, half surrounded, half caged by the maze of conveyer belts and watched over by two armed guards. 

Somehow, Tony wasn't surprised by this.

“Let's get this inspection started!” he crowed as he slammed his way through the last of the doors, and for a split second, everyone and everything froze. Even the yellow suited guards went still, their long barreled guns held in both hands. Tony just kept moving. “There have been reports of human rights violations at this facility; as the duly appointed representative of StarkIndustries, which is, after all, my company, I've been asked to look into these accusations.”

He glanced around. “Judging by the fact that all of the employees are on the floor and you have guns, I'm guessing there might be some merit to these accusations. This is all going to have to go into my report, don't worry, it'll be on your bosses, not you, just following orders, I know how it is. Ms. Nunez, please try to keep up.”

“Yes, sir,” Lily said, not that anyone was paying attention to her.

One of the guards seemed to shake loose of his confusion long enough to bring his rifle up. “Stop! Where do you-”

Tony flashed an id badge at the guard as he walked past. “Sorry, should've done that first. I understand, everything has to be on the up and up, always got to see to the niceties, it's important that we keep everything by the book, you know how corporate gets.” He pointed up at the ceiling. “And that's an environmental issue, isn't it,” he said, as everyone glanced at the absolutely nothing that he was gesturing to. “Lily, do you have that paperwork, we need to get started on the official checklists, and-”

Lily swung the suitcase armor into the back of the nearest head. The guard went down like a sack of wet dirt, his gun clattering across the floor. Tony caught it on the second bounce, snagging the barrel of the rifle and bringing it up and around in a baseball swing that would've done the Yankees proud. The heavy metal butt of the weapon slammed into the side of the second guard, spinning him around.

The guard hit the ground, and Tony scooped up the second rifle. “It is sad, it is just pathetic when you acquire a firearm and you can tell at a glance that it's better as a blunt weapon than as an actual gun. Cheap, bad workmanship, but nice timing,” he said to Lily.

“I hate this job and I am quitting,” she said, her voice shaking at the edges. She reached up and pushed a few threads of hair back into her bun with trembling fingers. The women on the factory floor were on the verge of panic or flight, and Lily held up her hands. Despite the weight of the suitcase, she kept her hands steady, calling out a few words in Mandarin that seemed to stave off complete chaos.

“You need to give notice or you won't be considered leaving on good terms,” Tony pointed out, crouching down behind one of the unconscious guards. He grabbed the man's hands and wrenched them around behind his bag.

“This. This right here. This is my notice! This job is horrible!”

“Well, to be honest, how often does your job entail beating up AIM goons?” Tony asked.

“To be honest,” she shot back, “once is too often!” The guard next to her groaned, and she swung the suitcase at his head again. It was a solid hit and Tony winced. “Quedese ahí!” she yelled at the guard. 

“You know,” Tony said, “I find it safer to just do what the nice lady says. When a woman says to stay down, you stay down. Safer for all concerned.” He glanced around, spotting a coil of extension cord beneath one of the machines. He tugged it free, then set about stripping the guard of his yellow suit. “How about if I promise not to bring you along on any hostage crisis situations?” he asked.

“I appreciate your consideration, Mr. Stark,” Lily said, still gripping the suitcase suit like a lifeline. “However, I think it's better for my career and my continued good health if I consider other employment opportunities at this point in my life.”

“I lose more middle managers this way.” Tony rolled the guard onto his face, pulling his boots and the pants of his hazmat suit free. “I'm not sure why.”

“Because working for you is only slightly less dangerous than working on an Alaskan crab boat,” Lily said, her voice tart.

“Have you been talking to Pepper? Because, really, she exaggerates. She really does. It was just two or three times, and it was a minimal amount of danger, considering that there is a fire suppression system-”

“Sir? This? Not helping.” 

“Gotcha.” Tony left the guard his underwear and undershirt, because, no. No, thank you. He grabbed the wire and started hogtying the guy, ankles to wrists, behind his back. “Drag that guy over here?”

“Is there a reason why you're stripping him?” she asked, and she handed him the suitcase suit before she hurried over to do just that. Tony tucked it between his knees, crouching over the solid metal case as he finished pulling the extension wire tight.

“Because we're going to put them on and use them to 'escort' our prisoners up to street level,” Tony said. 

“That's the plan? Put on the disgusting, filthy, possibly contaminated suits of a bunch of low level supervillan goons and escort a couple of hundred scared civilians to street level without us, or them, getting caught and shot?” She grabbed hold of the other guard's feet and pulled, hard, his body bouncing along behind her as she stomped back towards Tony. “Civilians that we can barely communicate with?”

“That's the plan.”

“It's not a good plan,” she pointed out.

“It's better than leaving a bunch of mad scientists with two hundred human shields, isn't it? I don't know what the local authorities will make of a bunch of civilians in the basement of a building filled with terrorists, but I'm pretty sure that AIM isn't herding them down here to keep them safe.” He glanced up. “We need to get them out.”

Lily gave a quick nod, her shoulders going back, her spine going straight. “I know. I just thought that you'd have a better plan than stealing a guard's clothes.”

“Welcome to the glamorous life of a superhero,” Tony said. “We go with practical a lot of the time because we're very, very tired. Now, steal that man's clothing.”

“I swear that you are a devil, really, you must be.”

“Your lack of flexibility is going to go on your annual review,” Tony told her as he stood. 

“Doesn't matter, since I'm quitting.”

“I hear that a lot. The cafeteria credits usually lure 'em back in.” Tony glanced around the room; now that the guards were under control, the employees seemed less inclined to panic. “Okay, now I miss Bilbo.” He hopped onto a piece of machinery. “Does anyone speak English?” he asked, and Lily repeated the question in halting Mandarin. 

A thin, older man stepped forward. “A little,” he said. “I-” he waved a hand at the employees. “In charge.”

“Supervisor?” Tony asked, and Lily tried two or three words before the man nodded, looking relieved. “Okay, good. 

“Sir?” the man asked. “The guards, they say StarkIndustries team is here. They talk about you?”

Tony stopped dead. “No. Not talking about us.” He glanced at Lily. “Do your best to go over the plan.”

“The 'run like hell' plan?”

“That's it. That's the plan.” Tony looked around. “Computer? Terminal?” he asked, and the man pointed. 

It didn't take long to get into the computer, or pull up the security logs. Of course, they were in Chinese, so that wasn't a lot of help to him. But he recognized one employee ID number, because he could've sworn that he'd banned Natasha from the company. The fact that her employee data was still active seemed like Pepper's doing, and he was going to have words with her about that. He glanced at the other two, but nothing came to mind. It wasn't Steve's, he'd assigned that particular gem himself.

“Anything?” Lily asked.

“My team,” Tony said, his voice tense. “Change of plans. You and our friend are going to put on the suits and head to the back, I'm going to go to the front and make a hell of a lot of noise, see if we can't buy you a little space. Head for the loading dock and stay there. Try to barricade yourself in, and keep everyone there until one of us comes for you. Okay?”

“Understood.” Lily took a deep breath and started to explain it to the supervisor, who was looking nervously in Tony's direction. Behind him, several of the women were talking in low tones.

“What?” Tony asked.

“They are concerned. About-” The supervisor waved his hand in the direction of his own face, and Tony couldn't understand what he meant for a moment. “Your eye, sir?”

“What?” Tony resisted the urge to grab the man by the front of his shirt and shake him. “Unrelated.” When the man just continued staring at him, Tony sighed. “Tell them that I shouldn't have tried to bring fruit through customs without declaring it.” Turning on his heel, he headed back towards Lily. “Suit up! Move out!”

She was shaking her head as she was stepping into the suit. “Sabía que no debí venir al trabajo,” she muttered under her breath.

“I'll note that under 'attendance issues,'” Tony told her, making her smile. “Since you've gotta give two weeks notice, you still work for me, let's go.”

“Remember,” she said, “three flights up, and through the main offices to the lobby.”

He nodded, and took off, the suitcase suit firmly in hand. The factory floors were mostly deserted, whatever was happening, it seemed to have pulled the people out of the major corridors. As he slipped up towards the lobby, he wondered just what Natasha was doing here, and how he was going to get Clint to keep his damn mouth shut about this.

He paused at the last set of doors, listening to an argument just on the other side.

“We are here to meet Mr. Stark,” Natasha was saying, her voice cutting. “We have a schedule to keep. And while I realize it is late, his schedule is quite full, and you are not going to-”

“I am telling you,” a male voice snapped back, the words vibrating with emotion, “Tony Stark is not here.”

Tony grinned to himself, pleased, as always, to screw over someone who needed to get screwed over. There was something karmic about it, it appealed to his sense of justice, or his sense of humor, it was hard to say. With a bounce in his step, he shoved the door open.

“We were told to meet him here,” a cool voice said and Tony had an instant, a split second to recognize the patent pending tone of Coulson at his most bureaucratic, before he was striding into the entry way. He had just enough time to jam his sunglasses onto his nose and then every single eye in the room was directed straight at him. A dozen confused and dismayed factory staffers and beyond them, Coulson and Natasha.

“Sorry I'm late, we were doing the tour thing, which was boring and I don't want to do it anymore,” he said, because his mouth was really good at filling in for his brain. Which was good, because his brain was now working overdrive, doing its best to fill in for the sudden, gaping holes in his plan. Beside half a dozen nervous looking factory employees, Coulson was glaring at him like Tony had just spoiled a perfectly good cover story. Again. Deliberately. Also again. Tony gave him a crisp smile; Phil didn't so much as blink. “You were waiting for me?”

“Yes, sir,” Natasha said, and her eyes were narrowed in what could be taken as disapproval but was far more likely to be careful consideration. Her hair was a muted brown and pulled back in a sleep topknot and her eyes were hidden behind cats eye glasses. Her lovely suit was too short, too tight and cut too low, and none of the men were looking at her face. “Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, Ms. Rushman, I am-” Tony said, turning, and there, just out of sight from where he'd previously been standing, was Steve. That was Steve. That was Steve with a sandy brown shaggy crew cut and soul patch and short sleeved dress shirt and the worst tie Tony had ever seen outside of a cheesy Times Square souvenir stand. On some level, Tony knew he was still talking, there were words coming out of his mouth, possibly they were coherent words, but he only knew he was talking because of the buzz of his voice in his ears.

Because Steve was wearing horrible black wire frame glasses, Steve was wearing glasses that could only be improved by tape holding them together.

And Tony had to remind himself, very sternly, that this was not a look that should ever be described as 'sexy,' not now, not ever, but dear god. He was going to need reminding.

“What's up with the geek?” he heard himself asking, staring up at Steve, who was clutching a battered attache case with both white knuckled hands.

“I prefer traveling with my own IT specialist,” Natasha said. Tony gave her a look, then gave Steve a rather thorough once over. Tony reached out and straightened Steve's tie, letting his fingers linger. Steve swallowed and Tony would give him credit for the way his ears went red, except he know it was completely involuntary. 

“Yeah, I can see why,” he said, smirking at her. Natasha raised an eyebrow, but her painted lips curled up into a smirk of her own. “'Bout time you got here. Where's the rest of the SI team?”

“Limited group, sir,” Coulson said, his voice smooth. “Minor issue in a minor facility. Not really high priority.” Behind him, several of the factory bigwigs went tense, faces going tight, lips going flat. The insult had been understood and internalized, and just like that, all the attention was on him.

“I can see why you might think that,” Tony said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “But this might be a bigger problem than we'd been anticipating.”

“It usually is when you're involved, sir,” Natasha said.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, he's wearing the Jensen outfit from Losers. Yes. He is. Because that movie is awesome. Even if the graphic novel contains a scene of Jensen hacking a hard drive in his boxers and a pirate hat. Yes. We could've had Chris Evans talking dirty to a computer in a pirate hat and boxers.
> 
> Happiness is a sad, sad lie.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for canon appropriate violence, discussions of Steve's childhood, and the physical and emotional damage of bullying. Also horrible relationship practices and a lot of bad decision making, wow, so much bad decision making.

“Is there a reason you're carrying that?” Steve said, the words pitched low and soft.

Tony strode along next to him, his shoulders back, his head up, the suitcase suit gripped in his left hand, the case between him and Steve. He was making a distinct effort to look bored. “I thought I was supposed to carry it,” he said with a flirtatious smile. “I get bitched out when I leave it behind.”

“Why, exactly, aren't you wearing it?” Steve said, his eyes flicking upwards for a single blink. Frustration and relief were warring somewhere low in his stomach. Right now, relief was winning. “In that it doesn't help you very much if you're not wearing it.”

“We have bigger problems,” Tony said, waving a hand at the factory at large.

“We usually do.” He was very aware of the way the factory staff was watching their group, the way that they were surrounded. He shifted another step closer to Tony, keeping a close eye on Coulson and Natasha, who were leading their small group. Natasha was holding everyone's attention, a potent mix of icy disdain and visual sex appeal that seemed to confuse most of the men that were with them. Coulson asked continuous questions, his words rapid fire and his language technical. Their translator was visibly rattled, mopping at his face with a white handkerchief and stuttering on words.

“Do you have communication outside of this building?” Tony said, shifting the briefcase suit to his other hand and moving closer to Steve. He gave the impression of being more interested in Steve than he was with the inspection, barely looking around, and taking a couple of long pulls from platinum flask. He made no effort to hide the drinking, not even bothering to put it away between swallows.

“No,” Steve said, and Tony's arm slid around his waist, low on his back, his fingers just dipping inside the waistband of Steve's trousers. Steve felt his face heat, and he hugged his attache case a little harder. What few people had still been paying attention to him or Tony promptly lost interest as the drunk billionaire focused on hitting on the uncomfortable IT tech.

Steve had seen Tony play this particular gambit before, and he still didn't now why it worked. Everyone knew who piloted the Iron Man armor. But for some reason, people who didn't know Tony Stark seemed more than willing to accept that he was every bad tabloid rumor and internet joke they'd ever come across. 

People saw what they wanted to see, and Tony used his reputation to his best advantage. For the moment, it was clear that the factory staff considered Coulson far more of a problem than Tony ever would be.

Tony leaned in, his teeth flashing in a grin. “Yeah, I can't get a signal. Nothing,” he said, and Steve frowned at him, wishing that Tony wasn't wearing his sunglasses. He was hard to read when Steve couldn't see his eyes. “Which means my change of clothes is only moderately useful. Without a connection to Jarvis, it's more of a blunt weapon than an actual useful piece of fashionable menswear.”

Steve's frown deepened, and he reaching up to adjust his glasses on his nose. For some reason, Tony's mouth gaped open, his tongue flicking out to wet his lips. “Not a good sign,” Steve said.

Tony gave his head a little shake. “Yeah, not a good sign at all. It's almost like this factory's got some sort of dampening field around it.” Tony was leaning into his side now, his body warm and solid against Steve's. His head came in, his lips right up against the curve of Steve's ear. His breath was hot against Steve's skin. “I've seen similar fields in places with proprietary tech,” he whispered, the tone full of laughter, even if the words weren't. “But nothing this strong or this all-encompassing.”

Steve forced himself to lean away, his head tipped away from Tony's, steeling his expression into one of a man very uncomfortable with the situation. Which he was, but not because Tony's hand was now cupping his ass with firm fingers. That was remarkably comforting, actually. “What are you doing here?” he asked, the words a faint hiss.

“Looking for trouble. Didn't expect quite this much trouble.” Tony nuzzled at Steve's jaw, a sloppy sort of kiss. Steve tried to look uncomfortable with the situation. “There's another-”

“Mr. Stark,” Coulson called, and Tony pulled away, reluctance obvious in ever movement of his muscles. Coulson's face could've been carved from stone. “If I could have a moment of your time, sir.” The words were polite, even respectful, but he was giving Tony a look that made it clear that he wasn't amused by Tony's antics. “If you're not too busy?”

Tony patted Steve lightly on the ass one more time. “Yeah, what do you need?” he said, fishing his flask out. With every eye on him, he took another swig, and Steve frowned. There was no way it was alcohol, Tony wasn't stupid, but still, Steve frowned. Catching his eye, Tony gave him a grin. “Here you go, kid,” he said, tossing the flask to Steve. “Loosen up.”

Steve caught it, and made sure that he bobbled it, and his case, and the flask again. One of the men, who was wearing a heavy jacket, gave him a disdainful look, and Steve knew he'd found one of the factory's guards. The bulge at the small of his back was probably a weapon, but as long as it stayed tucked away, Steve hung back, clutching his bag and Tony's flask.

“What's up, buttercup?” Tony said, and Coulson didn't have to manufacture a wince. 

“They are refusing,” Coulson said, his voice sharp, “to show us the lower factory floors.”

“We are so sorry,” the translator said, harried now, “but there are other contractors. We are not authorized to allow you access to-”

“See, that's weird, because I thought we were paying for exclusivity, here,” Tony said, his head tipped back, his hands tucked in the pockets of his pants. “I coulda sworn that we were leasing the entire factory.” There was a moment of strained silence, and then he gave an expansive shrug. “Oh, well, must be mistaken.”

“Mr. Stark-” Coulson started, disapproval in every letter of the words.

“Oh, come on, do we really have to go down into some pit?” Tony asked. “The rest of the team can take care of that. We have bigger problems, don't you think?”

“I don't understand,” the translator began, and then a siren started to wail.

The alarm shrieked, and for an instant, there was stillness. Then Tony turned and swung the metal case into the chest of the nearest guard. The guy went down hard, his head bouncing off the floor, and Tony kicked his rifle out of reach.

“So, hey, this factory is full of AIM goons,” Tony said, and Natasha moved so fast that Steve didn't even see what happened, he only saw the factory employees hitting the ground, one after another, and just like, that, the room was in chaos.

There was only the faintest warning, the sound of booted feet on the floor, and then the doors flew open, a dozen or so men came plowing through, guns up and out, and Coulson heaved a long-suffering sigh.

Steve turned to face the attack of the next few guards, bringing his own kevlar lined attache case up as a shield as someone started shooting. He rushed forward, a human battering ram that sent guards stumbling and crashing to the floor, catching the barrel of a rifle in one hand and lashing out with a massive fist. He caught a guard in the jaw, lifting the man off of his feet and slamming him back into a wall. Steve felt the impact all the way through his shoulder, but it barely slowed him down, turning to land a hard kick in the knee of another guard and sending him sprawling face first into the floor.

“You could've told us a little earlier,” Coulson said, his voice resigned. He caught an attacker by the elbow, swinging him around and jamming a palm mounted taser into the guard's ribs. When Coulson let him go, the guard crumbled to the ground.

“Listen, there was no good time to-” Tony ducked a barrage of shots and slid behind the bulky mechanism of a nearby conveyor belt. “I was hoping we wouldn't have to deal with this right now!”

“You know what would be good right now?” Steve yelled back, catching a guard by the throat and swinging him into the nearest piece of machinery. “If you put on the damn suit.”

Tony cursed under his breath, tossing the suitcase suit down, flipping it around. His sunglasses went clattering across the floor as he triggered the suit. In seconds, it unfolded around his body, snapping neatly into place. The faceplate snapped down, and Tony's head came up. The repulsors whined, the sound high and sharp, as he raised his hand. “Drop it,” he said, and through the suit's speakers, the threat was plain.

A handful of rifles clattered to the cement flooring.

Steve was still scanning the room, still looking for threats. “What set off the alarms?” he snapped out.

“Probably they've discovered their hostages from the basement are missing,” Tony said, sounding pissed. “We moved them.”

“Hostages?” Coulson asked as Steve bit back a swear. Coulson had recovered one of the guard's rifles and gestured for the few remaining men to move towards the wall, and Steve stepped up, pulling a bundle of zip ties from his attache case. He tossed a few to Natasha and started securing the factory employees.

“They had moved in about two hundred employees, they were keeping them under armed guard in the lower levels,” Tony said. He moved to the wall, the armor hampering his movements somewhat. Facing the wall and a control panel, Tony flipped up the faceplate of his helmet and leaned in. “AIM's here. I don't think that they were expecting any interference, but I'm guessing they've been stripping my tech as it's being manufactured, because this is the weakest point between creation and market, if they can see how everything is assembled, they have a good chance of reverse engineering it.” He tapped at the control panel. “See if any of them have a security card, can you? I want this noise to stop.”

“What have you been assembling here?” Natasha was securing the unconscious guards, zip tying each one to the support struts of the nearest conveyor belt or bundle of wires. She turned one of them over, pulling a pass card from his pocket and tossing it to Tony. “Catch.”

“Phone components,” Tony said, snatching the card from mid-air. He swiped it and went back to typing. In a matter of seconds, the alarms died, leaving a stark silence in their wake. “Thank God,” he said, pushing away from the wall and turning around.

Steve's stomach dropped like a rock.

“What happened?” he snapped.

Tony blinked at him. “What?”

“Your face, what happened?” Steve wasn't even aware that he'd moved, but he was right in front of Tony, his hand cradling Tony's chin, turning his face up and towards the light so he could get a better look at the ugly bruising around Tony's eye. 

Tony huffed out a breath. “Oh, that. The guards at the hotel have strong opinions in the Kirk vs. Picard debate, and I came down on the wrong side, I guess.”

Steve gave him a look, smoothing a careful thumb over the swollen skin of Tony's cheekbone. “Tony-”

“I zigged when I should have zagged,” Tony said, his hand coming up to cover Steve's. “It is not that big of a deal, Cap, I get knocked around all the time. It's one of the flaws of doing all my fighting inside of a tin can. Some times, I end up getting a bit rattled, that's all.”

“You're sure,” Steve said, not sure why this felt wrong, why the whole thing felt so completely wrong. But it did, and the stroke of Tony's fingers against the back of his hand only went so far towards relieving the sudden and unexpected spike of stress.

“I'm sure.” Tony gave him a lopsided smile. “I'm fine. No concussion, no bleeding, just a damn black eye, Cap. It is no big deal.”

It was, though. Steve hated it, he hated any time Tony came home hurt, any time he ended up limping or tossing back far too much aspirin. He hated the way that Tony would bury himself in the shower or the tub, trying to work out the ache in his body, to soothe the bruises and the strains. He hated all of it.

And he was pretty sure he hated it more because he healed so quickly, and Tony didn't. He hated that Tony just kept going, ignoring the way his body took the hits and kept moving, kept fighting. 

He hated, mostly, that he couldn't keep Tony from getting hurt. He hated himself for that.

Tony pulled back, and triggered the suit's release feature. It flowed backwards, off of him, rolling away, and underneath the layer of metal, he was just Tony, and Steve opened his mouth.

“Don't even think it,” Tony said, giving him a sideways look out of the corner of his eyes. “In all seriousness, Cap? Do not even think it, let alone say it.”

“You're in no shape,” Steve started.

“I'm fine! It's a damn bruised eye, you need to-” Tony pulled himself up short. “One of my staff is here, with the hostages, and we need to get to them before AIM does.”

They stared at each other, and before either of them could say something worse, there was the faint buzz in Steve's ear. “And we're back,” Clint said, his voice laconic. “Finally, SHIELD has earned their massive paychecks for the day.”

Steve took a deep breath, and pressed a finger to his ear. “Hawkeye, we've got a hostage situation. I need you and Thor to take point.”

“You know how to sweet talk a guy, Cap.”

Steve dropped his hand. “Explain,” he said to Tony. “About everything.”

*

“I hate this job,” Lily muttered. “The uniform requirements are just getting out of control, I swear.” She had to move carefully to keep the 'borrowed' yellow jumpsuit from sliding off of her shoulders. 

“I am sorry?” Li Wei, the shift supervisor said, his voice worried.

“Sorry,” Lily told him, picking her way through the Mandarin. “I talk to myself.”

He nodded, or she thought he did, these bucket like helmets were so absolutely stupid that it was hard to tell what was happening underneath them.

The blare of the alarm had scared the ever loving wits out of her. It had stopped, as quickly as it started, and still, they were there, waiting. Lily tried not to think about where Tony was, or what was happening. If he'd been caught. If their absence had been noticed. If there were people coming for them, right now.

She took a deep breath, and another. There was no point in panicking. There was no point in letting her imagination run away with her. She was here to make sure that SI money wasn't resulting in people being abused or exploited. That was her job. That was what she was trained to do.

Of course, standing around with a rifle, impersonating a terrorist, and waiting to get shot hadn't really been covered in her MBA courses, but there was something to be said for on the job training.

One of the bay doors rattled, shaking her out of her thoughts. She stared at it, and then looked at Li Wei. He shook his head, the yellow hood bouncing on his head. Cursing under her breath, Lily turned to face the potential threat as Li Wei turned to the worker. His hands held up over his head, he cautioned everyone to remain still and calm, and say nothing. Lily wondered if that would work for her; she kind of doubted it, but at this point, she'd give it a try.

The door opened, and Lily froze, her rifle up in a position that she hoped looked threatening. The lights outside flared, blinding her, and behind her, behind the minimal protection of her gun, she heard the workers, talking, whispering, crying out, so many voices, all at once, before they faded into silence. Where the voices had once filled the space, now there was only the faint scrape of feet on concrete, the far off echoes of truck engines, the rattle of the metal bay door.

The small group of guards seemed startled by their presence at first, and one of them yelled out in Mandarin, too fast and too angry for her to pick up more than a word or two. But her partner in crime responded immediately, and even though his voice shook, he yelled back just as hard, waving a hand at the gathered employees. Lily took a step back, and another, coaxing the crowd back, and away from the door, away from whatever was about to happen.

Her hands tightened on the rifle, and she prayed, she prayed so hard as one of the guards raised a pistol, pointing it at Li Wei's head.

She didn't remember praying for an arrow, but the lord did work in mysterious ways. The guard screamed, his arm jerking upwards as the shaft buried itself in his back. The gun went off, and another arrow slammed into the concrete right next to his feet. As the man collapsed, screaming and flailing, a clear, calm voice said, “Close your eyes.”

Lily didn't know why she did it, but she did, and even through the AIM hood, and the shade of her closed eyelids, the flash blinded her, white sweeping across her vision. She stumbled back a step, her heart pounding, and the crack-boom of thunder swept through the air, so close that she could swear that she could smell burning ozone.

Opening her eyes, she blinked hard, and the first thing she saw was a huge, muscular man with flowing blonde hair and a sweep of a crimson cape striding into the loading bay, swinging a giant silver hammer with one hand. Everything was still as he moved, one footfall, then two, his massive boots seeming to shake the ground. Way too late, one of the guards brought up a gun, yelling something frightened and angry. The punch that connected with the guard's chest lifted him off his feet like a cartoon character, and he crashed into the far wall.

And everything exploded into chaos.

Showing some sign of self-preservation instincts, half a dozen of the guards dropped their weapons and ran, plowing headlong into the crowd of employees, only to meet active, and furious resistance, women grabbing at their coats and kicking at knees and clawing at faces until they every one of them was overwhelmed, forced to the ground. Lily met one head on, taking a swing. He sidestepped it easily, and she jammed the barrel of her rifle into the tangle of his feet. He went down hard, his face slamming into the concrete and he didn't get up again.

A few, though, took their chances with the man in the door, and that was a remarkably poor choice. He dispatched them all, knocking them down or into the walls or tossing them towards the ceiling with easy, controlled motions. The one that slipped past him, making a break for the open space of the factory yard was caught by a single arrow in the shoulder. He was spun around by the impact and was unconscious before he hit the ground.

“All is well,” the man said, with a wide, warm grin. “You have all fought well, and no longer face your enemies alone.” As if that meant something, he dropped the hammer to the ground, and the whole place shook.

Lily hadn't ever seen them in person, but she was a New Yorker. She was a New Yorker who worked for StarkIndustries. She knew the Avengers when she saw them, and she was so relieved that she could've cried. Hell, she might've cried. She didn't know, and she really didn't care.

The Avengers were here, and that meant that there pas a pretty good chance that she wasn't going to die. That was such a great thought, that she wasn't going to die, that she wasn't going to die while working, while wearing a bright yellow jumpsuit. The bright yellow jumpsuit was adding insult to injury. 

She was half crying, half laughing, when the man in the black vest and pants slipped out of the shadows, his weapon still up and ready, bow pointing squarely in her direction. The tip of the arrow glinted in the light, and Lily froze, terrified.

The man holding the bow paused. “Take your mask off,” he said, his voice calm, almost amused. Carefully, slowly, Lily reached up and pulled the hood off. As soon as she did, she saw the tension in the man's shoulders relax.

“Aren't you a little short for an AIM grunt?” he asked, his head tipping forward, light rolling over the ruby lenses of his glasses.

“Aren't your pop culture references a little dated for a man who is a pop culture reference?” Lily shot back before she could think better of it. She sucked in a breath, and another one, shaking, but the man laughed, the bow dropping to point at the floor. He released the tension on the bowstring slowly, and the bow seemed to sigh as he lifted the arrow from the string.

“Yeah, you sound like you could keep up with Tony.” His hand came up, his gloved fingers pressing against his ear. “We're clear here, located the target and secured the loading dock.” His hand dropped, and he smiled at Lily. “We're the Avengers, and we're here to save you. I'm Hawkeye, but you can call me Clint.” His head tipped back. “The big guy with the severe case of static cling is Thor. You can call him Sparky, he's fine with it. He's less scary than he looks.”

Lily glanced at Thor, who was still staring down at the downed guards with an expression that hovered somewhere between rage, contempt and disappointment. One of the men tried to move, and Thor simply set a booted foot on his chest. “I would not, were I you,” he said, and the words vibrated the air.

“He's completely terrifying,” Lily said.

“Only if you are into the doing of evil,” Clint said. “If you are law abiding and avoid accidentally kicking any puppies, you're all good with Thor.” He glanced at her. “You're Lily Nunez?”

She blinked. “How did you-”

“SI personnel files. You were supposedly with Tony when he went missing from the hotel, so either you kidnapped him at gunpoint, which, knowing Tony, isn't outside of the realm of possibility, or you were in on his lunatic plan to infiltrate a factory without knowing what or who you were going to face.” He rolled his head towards Lily, looking at her over the top of his glasses. “Well?”

“Well?” Lily said.

“Which one is it?”

She thought about that for a second, her lips pursed. “That second option makes me seem pretty stupid,” she said.

“Yeah, it really, really does,” Clint agreed. His lips twitched. “Actually, both options makes you seem pretty stupid, because kidnapping Tony doesn't ever work out for the kidnappers. So, you make poor choices and made it a whole weekend without shooting Tony. Ever consider a career with SHIELD?”

“I think that would be the definition of 'out of the frying pan and into the fire,'” Lily said. She pushed her hair away from her face and was shocked to find her hand shaking. She stared at it, nonplussed.

“It's shock,” Clint said, catching her elbow. “Sit down before you fall down.”

Lily took a deep breath. “I'm fine.”

Clint took off his glasses. “I'm not going to say this again. Sit down.”

Lily sat down. She was kind of relieved to be off her feet. Her head was spinning. “We need to get these people out of here,” she said, still clinging stubbornly to her job. Her job, she could understand her job.

“We're safer here, for now. SHIELD is bringing in sweeper teams, they'll get the place surrounded, and then we'll walk everyone out, once we're sure the area outside is secured.” Clint was running his fingers over his bow, his eyes still scanning the room as he did his weapons check. “For now, we have to keep everyone calm, and somehow Thor is doing that.”

Lily looked over, and yes, Thor was doing just that. The massive man was speaking to Li Wei and the other employees, his voice full of humor. “He speaks Mandarin?” she asked Clint.

“All-speak. It's an Asgardian thing. He speaks, and understands, all languages. It's some weird thing, I don't get it, but he understands everyone, and when he speaks, they all understand him.” Clint shook his head. “Don't think too hard about it, because it will make your brain bleed.”

“Literally?” Lily asked.

“Dunno, I don't think too hard about it,” Clint told her. “Follow my example. It's a good example.”

The workers were talking, whispering behind hands and speaking in low voices to one another. Suddenly, a loud cry went up, making Thor stop. There was a babble of voices, and then one of the women produced an action figure box. Grinning, she held it up in front of Thor, who took it.

“You do me much kindness,” he said, with a wide smile.

Clint wandered over to glance over his shoulder. Not wanting to be left alone, Lily followed. “You have a toy,” Clint said, patting Thor on the shoulder. “You have a cheap, badly designed knock off toy.” He squinted at the packaging. “What does that say?”

“Handsome Warrior Prince,” Thor said. “Tis a most flattering of description, truly.”

“Wow,” Clint said. Biting his lower lip, he smacked Thor on the back again. “Just- Wow.”

“Though to speak true, I have never had any fondness for axes,” Thor said, studying the toy. “Nor can I think of any reason to carry six at one time. Even Volstagg needs but one.”

“That's your only problem with this figure?” Clint took it away from him and held it up. “You have no issue with the fact that it comes with an ax launcher?” He looked at the toy, then at Thor. “It is a launcher. A spring powered launcher that launches axes.”

“It does seem a most foolish addition,” Thor agreed. “Yet clever enough, in a child's plaything.”

“Wow,” Clint repeated.

“Don't get comfortable,” Lily told him. “Pretty sure there's one of you in those boxes.”

“There damn well better be,” Clint said, and he honestly sounded insulted, as if the possibility that there wasn't a bootleg version of him was a personal affront. Lily found herself smiling at him. 

It took the workers only a few minutes to respond to Thor's request, and then Clint was staring down at himself. “Wow,” he said, his lips pursing. “That's a lot of purple.”

“I don't think they gave you pants,” Lily said. For some reason, that struck her as hysterical, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep from giggling out loud. “I think you're-” A snort of laughter, embarrassingly unladylike, slipped through her fingers, and Clint looked at her. She lost it.

“You lose your pants one time,” Clint said, eyes going upwards, “just one time, one frickin' fight, and the moment is immortalized forever on a bootleg toy.”

“Considering the potency of the acid the viper used to foil us,” Thor pointed out, “you are quite fortunate to have kept your skin.”

“And my shorts. I don't think I can pull off the mini-skirt look,” Clint said. He held up the toy. “But I got an arrow launcher. Because apparently a bow is just too boring.”

Lily was choking on laughter, her hands locked tight against her mouth. Clint patted her lightly on the back. “Being world famous,” he deadpanned. “It's awesome.”

“I can tell,” Lily managed. “Mr. Noble Masked Archer.”

“Noble Masked Archer,” Clint said, waving a hand, his eyes unfocused. “Eyes of the hawk, heart of the lion, here to shoot you in the ass with his arrow launcher.”

Lily found herself looking at Thor, who was grinning. “Is he always like this?” she asked.

“Aye, for the most part,” Thor said. He crossed his arms over his chest, and for an instant, Lily couldn't do anything but stare at the way his muscles flexed. It was mesmerizing. “He is a man of sharp wit and he possess an admirably clever tongue.”

“That's what she said,” Clint said immediately.

“You were so close,” Lily told him. “So close to maintaining your dignity.”

“I'm not the one standing around in an AIM bee-suit,” Clint told her.

She looked down and was startled to find that he was right. She bit out a curse, and Clint chuckled. 

“This may come as a surprise to you,” Lily told him, unfastening the jump suit, “but I'm not really used to this kind of a situation. Usually, people just try to slip me a bribe. That's the craziest thing I have to deal with on most business trips.”

Clint had a hand at his ear. “We have SHIELD coming in,” he said. “Everyone stay calm, we're almost clear.” As Thor repeated that for the factory workers, Clint turned back to Lily. “I figured that you were just keeping your options open in case we ended up on the losing end of this fight,” Clint said, right before a handful of operatives in black tactical gear came pouring in from the factory and the yard.

“As odd as you might find it, Agent Barton, we've won.” The trim man in the neat suit was in the midst of the agents. “Everyone all right here?”

Clint gave him a thumbs up. “We're just fine, sir.”

“Aye,” Thor said. “You have located our missing shield brother?”

“I'm right here, Jesus, just put an electronic tracking bracelet on me if it's that big of a deal,” Tony said, from right behind the agent. 

“We've considered it,” the agent said. He waved some of the SHIELD people forward, and they were spreading through the crowd of employees. “Now that the facility is secured, we'll have everyone on their way as soon as possible.”

“The villains?” Thor asked. 

“Steve and Natasha are clearing out the last nests, with a tactical team,” the agent said.

Clint groaned. “They get all the fun jobs.”

“That is because they are masochists,” Tony said. “You okay?” he asked Lily.

“Fine, thank you.” She stepped out of the jump suit. “You?”

“I need a drink,” Tony gritted out.

“What happened to your face?” Clint asked, not sounding happy about that.

“As it turns out,” Tony gritted out, “the bellhops in the local Shenzhen Hilton take a lack of tipping very, very seriously. Can we go home now?”

“Didn't you come here to do a factory inspection?” Clint asked, his eyebrows arching.

Tony gave him a look. “Ms. Nunez,” he said, his voice clipped and precise, “what are the chances of this particular facility passing any inspection that we choose to carry out at this point?”

“Mr. Stark, this was an inspection held specifically to look for human rights violations,” Lily said, exhausted, “and we arrived to find the employees being held at gunpoint in the factory.”

“I'm guessing that's an automatic fail,” Coulson said, his voice wry.

“At this point, it would be very difficult for the management of this particular facility to attain a passing grade,” Lily told him. 

“As she is the expert in what causes you to get a 'What the flying fuck did you think you were doing here, this is unacceptable' grading, I think I'm going to let her stamp a gigantic 'F' on the sheet. Let's get the hell out of here,” Tony said.

“Do you get to stamp F on their sheet?” Clint asked. “I would. That would be really satisfying, to not only kick the bad guy's asses, but also mark up their permanent record.”

“At this point, I'm going to make their official grade an FU,” Lily told him.

“Ordinarially, I'd say that Ms. Potts would object, but under the circumstances, that seems appropriate.” Tony pointed both hands at the door. “Let's. Go.”

*

Despite Tony's wishes, they didn't really get far.

As it turned out, there was still work to be done. Clint and Natasha lead the SHIELD teams that cleared out the last of the AIM personnel, ignoring the shouted promises of revenge and statements about information needing to be free, because they were getting used to that stupidity. For their part, Tony and Coulson and Bruce ended up digging through all of the computer files that they could pull up. Thor paced through the crowds of the employees, chatting and reassuring people, getting his picture taken and signing whatever was thrust in his direction. At one point, he was posed with an elderly dock worker seated neatly on his flexed bicep as the women clapped and cheered.

Steve rather wished there was someone left to punch. 

It was petty, and he didn't know what his problem was, really. All things considered, this had worked out far better than he'd had any right to expect. Tony was here, within sight, his hands braced on a makeshift work area, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his body leaning forward, the tight muscles of his back visible even through the fabric of his shirt. His black eye looked like it hurt like hell, but that was the worst of it. He was safe, he was whole, he was right there, where Steve could see him.

But Steve had had a lot of black eyes in his life. He knew how much they hurt, every time you blinked, every time you squinted or raised your eyebrows or touched your face. Tony did all of that and more, not even seeming to notice the pain, but Steve knew that the pain was there. It was always there, if Tony chose to acknowledge it or not.

“Captain?”

He turned, finding a slight SHIELD agent from the local office hovering just next to his elbow. She held up an insulated, restaurant style coffee pot. “We have made tea for the staff. May I offer you a cup?”

Steve opened his mouth, about to refuse, and then, over his shoulder, he spotted the SI employee that had been with Tony tonight. The woman was sitting on a bench against the wall, her legs neatly folded at the ankles, her hands braced on the bench on either side of her hips, her head hanging down. The posture spoke of exhaustion and a stubborn refusal to collapse, all at once, and Steve felt himself smile.

“Yes, thank you,” he said to the SHIELD agent, who smiled back. “May I have two cups, actually?”

A minute later, he was crossing the factory floor, a paper cup of steaming hot tea in each hand. He came to a stop a few feet away from the woman, not wanting to startle her. “Ma'am?”

The woman looked up, her gaze unfocused. “Yes?” She blinked a few times. “Oh, you're- You're Captain America-” She paused, shook her head. “I mean, you're Captain Rogers, aren't you?”

“Call me Steve.” Steve offered her the cup of tea. “Are you all right?”

She took it, and he was pleased to see that her hands were steady. “Ah, dios mio, bless you.” She took a deep breath, inhaling the steam that rose from the surface, her eyes fluttering shut. “You have no idea how much I needed this right now.”

Steve bit back a smile. “Actually, I kind of think that I do,” he told her, laughing a little. “I'm sorry, there's no sugar or cream for it.”

She laughed. “That's quite all right, I take it for the heat alone right now.” She waved a hand at the seat next to her. “Do you want to sit down? You must be exhausted.”

He wasn't, but he knew enough of post-battle trauma to want to keep an eye on her. He sank down into the empty seat, his own cup cradled between his palms. His fingers flexed against the surface; like her, he needed the heat more than the taste. “I'm fine, thank you.” He glanced at her. “How are you holding up?”

She took a long sip, her eyes narrowed. “Better than I expected,” she admitted. She held out a hand. “I'm Lily, by the way. Thank you for coming to our rescue.”

Steve took her hand with a smile. “It's kind of in the job description. And a big part of the relationship.”

That won him a wide grin, a surprisingly puckish one. “That's right, you're dating Mr. Stark.”

“I am.” Steve rolled his coffee cup between his hands. “Thank you for sticking with him tonight.”

Lily nodded. “I quit.”

“Most people do. He's used to it.” Steve ducked his head down as she laughed, a warm little chuckle. “But you know, he's used to people recanting once the guys with guns aren't in the vicinity any more, too.” He glanced at her. “If you take it back, he'll probably forget it ever happened.” He took a sip of his tea, and it swept over his tongue, the taste rich and earthy in a way that was very different from coffee. He liked it anyway. “Might even give you a signing bonus. Or a re-signing bonus, as the case may be.”

She stared at him over the rim of her cup, her brilliant eyes narrowed. She took her time sipping her tea, and Steve felt his smile stretching. She was clever, and she clearly weighed her options carefully, but he could see her decision in her face when she finally lowered her cup. “Did he send you over here?” she asked at last, her lips twitching.

“He has no idea where I am,” Steve told her.

She gave a polite little snort. “I do not believe that at all,” she said. She pointed a finger at his chest. “He is a remarkably clever man, Mr. Stark, and he might be a bit absent minded when he's focused on a project, he doesn't lose track of the project itself.”

“Are you saying I'm a project?”

“All good relationships require work, don't they?” She grinned, her head going back to rest against the wall. “Work relationships as well as personal relationships.”

“So are you a project?” Steve asked, smiling back. 

“I think he's got a lot of projects.” Lily shifted her weight. “I thought he was just playing around, when he showed up for this. I got the notification from Ms. Potts, of course, I knew he was supposed to be joining us, but I don't know.” She sipped her tea. “I thought he didn't trust us to do our job. That he was taking over, when I've been working these complaints, this contract for six months.” Her shoulders rose and fell in a flutter of a shrug. “I resented it.”

She paused, looked at Steve. “I probably shouldn't be telling you that I wanted to tell my boss to fuck off, right?”

Steve shrugged, sipping his tea. “I hear you quit. Everybody complains about their former boss.”

Lily laughed. “Yeah?”

“I hear that's a thing.” Steve ducked his head to hide his smile. “Besides, you can't say anything to me about Tony that Pepper hasn't already said. In far more colorful terms.”

Lily clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh, lord.”

“Relationships,” Steve told her, with gravity, “take a lot of effort.”

“I've heard that.” She glanced over to where Tony was going through files, arguing with Bruce, his hands cutting through the air. “Is it worth it?”

Steve considered that. “Yes,” he said. 

“Yeah?”

“Yes,” Steve repeated. “The work relationship or the personal relationship. It's worth it.”

Lily set her cup down. “Captain Rogers, why did you come over here? To talk me into staying? To convince me to give it another chance?”

“I didn't know you quit,” Steve said. “I came over here because you got up and did something that you shouldn't have had to do. But you did it. You followed orders, you saved people's lives. And that's all well and good when it's happening, when you have a job to do, when you have no choice but to keep moving forward.” He took one last sip from his cup, draining the dregs of the tea. “But when it's over, when you don't have the job any more, that's when it can all come crashing in on you.”

“You wanted to see if I was okay?” Lily asked, her eyebrows arching. But there was a faint flush along her cheekbones, and a pleased smile on her lips.

“Partially,” Steve said, smiling back. “And partially because I didn't have a job to do, either, and I hate the aftermath, too.”

Her smile faded, just a little, into something warmer and more steady. “It doesn't get any better?”

“It does,” Steve said. “And it doesn't.” He shook his head. “So thank you for giving me something to do.”

Lily ducked her head. “So you think I should take back my resignation?”

“I think you should just show up for work when you get home and I'm pretty sure there'll be a fruit basket there.” Steve stood up. “Not from Tony. From Pepper.”

“Good. She has taste.” Lily looked up. “People could've died.”

“And they didn't. And you were a big part of that. You were a very big reason why people didn't die here today.” Steve pretended not to notice when she scrubbed a hand against her eyes. “Thank you.”

She took a deep breath, shuddering a little with the force of it. “Thank you, sir.” She grinned, and it was brilliant, almost as brilliant as her eyes. “This job is kind of horrible.”

“Yes, it is. And you do it very well.”

“So does Mr. Stark,” she said.

“Well, I'd like him to get through one business trip without ending up injured, but that seems to be too much to ask,” Steve said.

Lily gave him a look. “Oh, you can't blame us for this one,” she said, and there was a note of defensiveness to her voice. “He had that damn black eye when he got on the plane.”

Steve froze, his heart grinding to a halt in his chest. “What?”

Lily was picking up her cup, crumbling the paper in between her hands, flattening it, not seeming to notice the chaos she'd just unleashed in him. “He was wearing those foolish glasses when he showed up at the airport. So I don't know where he got that shiner, but I'm betting the other guy got off worse than he did.” She turned to Steve, and her smile died. “Steve? Are you- Are you all right?”

With an effort, Steve relaxed his fingers. “Yes,” he said, his smile very tight. Very painful on his face. “I'm-” He sucked in a breath. “Fine.”

“You don't look fine,” she said. “Did I say something-”

“No.” He managed a smile, despite the way his heart had come back to life. It was now thudding away at double the speed, hard and painful behind the protection of his breastbone. He did his best to keep his breathing under control, to keep a polite smile on his face. “We should be going soon. I'm sure the SHIELD agents will make certain you get home safely.”

Her brows drawn up tight, she nodded. “I'm sure they will.” She offered him a slight smile. “It was nice meeting you, Steve.”

“It was nice meeting you, too.” He bit back on the impulse to thank her for telling him the truth. It was about damn time someone did.

*

Tony was never so glad to be home in his entire life. 

“I will regret skipping that debrief,” he said aloud as he shoved his way through the front door of their suite. “I will regret this very much, and very deeply, I know I will. But let me tell you, right now? I am just so happy to get home.” He headed straight for the bar. “What a fucking nightmare of a couple of days.”

Behind him, Steve pulled the door shut. He'd been quiet the whole way home, as soon as they'd gotten back to the Quinjet, he'd removed the silly fake soul patch and the glasses, much to Tony's dismay. Then, he'd settled into his seat with his eyes closed and his head back, pretending to be asleep through most of the flight back to the US. He hadn't been asleep, Tony knew what he looked like when he slept, and though that was a pretty good approximation, it wasn't the real thing. He knew what Steve looked like when he slept, but he also knew what Steve looked like when he was faking it.

And Steve had been feigning sleep the entire way home.

“That was fucking awful, I will never let Pepper forget this, I will never let her-”

“Was it Pepper's choice?”

The soft words stilled him, and Tony paused, halfway across their expensive living room, his eye's finding Steve's. Steve, who was still standing just inside the door, one hand still on the door knob, his face blank and expressionless. Tony felt his stomach sink, a sickening sensation of nausea twisting through him. He paused, tried to smile. “Yeah. She's the one who sent me.” Tony turned back towards the bar, wanting a drink, but wanting an escape route even more. He gave the gleaming rows of liquor a wistful look, then headed for the bedroom door. “I need a shower, like, yesterday. You going to join me?”

“Tony.”

“Because two international flights, a fight in a factory, a couple of rounds in the suitcase suit, and it's called the suitcase suit for a reason, it's like being in a damn suitcase, any of that would require a shower, all of it, and I am absolutely rank, and-”

“What happened to your face?”

The question hit him broadside, some part of him had been expecting it, but expecting it and hearing it were apparently two very different things, because he swayed on his feet, his head going light for a second. Just a second, just a beat of a pause, because he was such an accomplished liar, he was so good at letting his mouth get him out of problems. “Factory racquetball tourney went a little awry,” he said, and he turned with a grin. Wide and practiced and just the right balance of self-depreciation and amusement. “I was just in a fight with a bunch of trigger happy guards and AIM goons, what do you think happened?”

Steve's face was still blank, still empty. He inhaled, and he expanded with it. “Except you had it before you got on the plane to go.”

The silence was so absolute that Tony could hear the thud of his pulse in his ears. “Steve-”

“Please stop lying to me.” For the first time, Steve stepped forward, moving into the room, his movements careful and controlled. “You didn't have that when we went to bed that night. I would've noticed. When I woke up the next day, you were gone. And I'm told you got onto a plane, with a black eye.”

Steve paused in front of one of the chairs, his fingers resting on the back of it. “Something happened, between that night, and that morning.” His head tipped to the side, looking at the windows, at the dim cityscape, but Tony got the feeling that he wasn't seeing it at all. “And if it was you zigging when Dummy zagged down in the workshop, or if you and Clint had pulled your usual nonsense of trying to kill each other while pretending to spar, you would've shown up at breakfast and just smirked about it.”

Tony's eyes squeezed shut, the barest flinch of a blink, but it was enough. Steve exhaled, a gust of breath, deflating along with it. “I guess I should be grateful that you're just going with a lie of omission, instead of a flat out lie, shouldn't I?” He sank down into the chair, exhaustion clear on his face. “But you know what, Tony? I'm not feeling particularly grateful right now.”

He didn't want to move, didn't want to speak, but the situation was spiraling out of control, and he hated it, he hated the feeling of helplessness and frustration. “Steve-”

“I'm trying to understand,” Steve said, his hands linked, hanging down between his knees, his back bowed, his head down. “I am really trying to understand what happened here. Because I love you, I do.” He looked up, his eyes pale in the low light. “But you have been lying to me, and Pepper has been lying to me, and I find I am really, really getting sick of that.”

Tony realized his arms were crossed, and he forced them down to his side. “Steve. It's not that big of a deal. For God's sake, it's not-”

“It is to me.” Taking a deep breath, Steve stood, drawing himself up, to his full height, pride holding him erect when strength might've failed him.

“Steve-”

“Did I hit you?”

Tony flinched. “Steve.”

Steve shook his head. “Did I,” he said, the words precise, almost gentle, “hit you?”

Tony rubbed a hand down his face. “You were having a nightmare.” He sucked in a breath. “You never even woke up. You just-” He gave a shrug. “Rolled over and clipped me with your elbow.” He looked up, meeting Steve's eyes, and immediately regretted it.

The expression on Steve's face was horrible.

“Hey.” Tony moved in, and Steve retreated, just a step or two, but it was a retreat, a quick, sharp jerk of movement. He swallowed, his throat worked with it, his eyes dark and hollow and his jaw tight. Tony pulled back, a sick feeling curdling his stomach. “Steve, it was an accident.”

Steve's eyebrows drew in tight, his whole face crumpling. “That,” he said, his voice shaking at the edges, “doesn't make it any less real. The fact that it was an accident doesn't mean I couldn't have hurt you very badly, that I couldn't have killed you. Does it.” It wasn't a question; it was a resigned and broken statement of fact, and Tony fought against that. 

“Look at me,” Tony said, grabbing his shoulders. “Steve, look at me.” He had to duck his head a little, twist to the side to force Steve to meet his eyes. “I'm fine. Steve.”

“I am looking at you,” Steve said, and his voice held a note almost like grief. “I am looking at, at that.” He waved a hand in Tony's direction. “I did that to you.” 

“You were having a nightmare,” Tony said, frustration bleeding into his words. “It happens. It happens to me, it happens to you, it happens to everyone who's been through-” He jerked to a stop, the words choking him, and he struggled with it, cursing his inability to find the right ones, the words that would make this go away. “What we've been through,” he burst out at last. “It happens. It sucks, and it-” He jammed a hand through his hair, his jaw working. “Look, it's not that big of a fucking deal!” 

Steve's head snapped back, his face twisting. Tony stared him down, hating this conversation so much that it was all he could do to stay still. Everything in him was screaming to just get out, to go to the workshop or get the suit or put a hammer through a wall, something, anything that wasn't standing here talking about something this monumentally stupid. Anything to ignore the way everything was hinging on the words that he couldn't get right, that he could never get right, he could never find the way to make people understand. Find a way to make them stay. His hands curled into fists at his side and he forced himself to stillness.

The silence stretched, until Steve's quiet voice broke it. “I think it would be better for both of us,” he said, exhaustion bleeding into the words, “that I stay in my own apartment tonight.”

Tony'd been expecting that, he'd known it was coming, but he was surprised by how much it hurt anyway. It was like a puncture wound, sharp and fast, a radiating pain that ripped through him. Swamped with it, he struggled to breathe. “Good of you to decide that for both of us,” he snapped, and that was his voice saying that and he hated himself for it.

“Yes, because clearly you don't know anything about making decisions on your own that affect other people,” Steve said, his voice tight. His lips were a thin line now, his face leeched of color, his eyes agonized. “Call me petty, but right now, I'm not really interested in being lectured about the choices I'm being forced to make to keep you safe.”

“Isn't that just what you accuse me of doing?” Tony snarled. He wanted a drink. He wanted a weapon, he wanted a getaway car, he wanted to be able to blame someone else, or maybe all three, all at once. “Deciding what's best for you without consulting you? How exactly do you-”

Steve snapped. “Because we both know you should be afraid of me!”

It was too loud and too sharp and too brutal, and they both took a step back, mirroring the movement in an instinctive effort to give the other room. Tony sucked in a breath from between clenched teeth. “But I'm not,” he said, all the fight gone out of him. “I'm not afraid of you.” His lips twitched, a vain attempt at a smile. “You're the only one around here who's afraid of you, Cap.”

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, over his jaw, his eyes darting away from Tony's. “Well,” he said, the fight gone out of his voice and leaving nothing but an aching sadness behind, “I always was the only one to show any sense about things.”

Tony jammed his hands in his pockets. “So, that's it?” he said, chin up, shoulders back, defiant until the last, until there was nothing left to cling to. “What, just, not coming home tonight?”

“I am home, Tony, this place is home, this building is home.” Steve paused, his head down. “You are my home. But if you're asking, then yes. I'll be sleeping in my own-” The word fractured in the middle, and he kept on in a dogged push. “My own apartment. Tonight.”

Tony shrugged. “Your choice,” he said, and the flippancy, he was proud of that, he was proud that he sounded flip and snide and dismissive. Not the first time someone had decided sharing a bed with him was too much trouble, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. He would've thought that the pain wouldn't be so bad by now. Desperate to numb it before he did something really stupid, like beg or scream, he turned on his heel, ambling across the room to the bar. “I'll see you tomorrow then, Cap.”

“Do you think this is easy for me?” Steve asked.

“I don't much care,” Tony snapped and that was too brittle, too hurt, too broken, he couldn't do that, he couldn't break, not just yet. He grabbed the first bottle that came to his hand and wrenched the stopper out, the gesture violent and sharp. “You get to choose. If your choice hurts, well, then, maybe it's a sign that you've made a lousy fucking choice, Steve.”

Steve stared at him. Without another word, he walked out. Tony didn't turn to watch him him go, he just waited, is whole body strung too tight, for the almost gentle sound of the door shutting. Not a slam. Not even a proper door close. Just the so careful click of the door against the frame, and he slumped. 

“Jarvis, let me know when he gets to the gym,” he said, staring into the depths of an empty glass. Everything hurt, he was a ball of aches and pains and that was all this was. Just a bad day out there. Bad choices. Bad fights. His hands shook when he poured an unhealthy measure of liquid in the glass, splashing the expensive booze across the polished surface of the marble top. “And monitor his workout. Make sure he doesn't hurt himself.” Tony lifted the glass, studying the amber liquid in the light, weighing it in the palm of his hand, and it was like he was watching himself from a distance, from a very long away away.

From a place where the pain was more of an intellectual curiosity than the cause of death.

“Of course, sir.”

Tony toasted the AI. “To really fucking lousy choices,” he said, and then he downed it. 

*

It was very, very late before Steve dragged himself back to his bedroom. 

It was a very nice apartment, of course. Tony had designed it for him. Had designed it so that Steve would feel comfortable and safe. Tony had given him a very nice place to live, and Steve had been grateful for it. He was still grateful for it, for the moment when he realized that he didn't have to go back to the empty apartment SHIELD had rented for him. He was grateful for the apartment that Tony had given him.

But Tony's apartment was what felt like home. 

And now, as he stood in another empty apartment, the sensation of being alone was almost enough to choke him. His shoulders slumped, and he took a deep breath. He had to do this, he reminded himself. Once Tony was talking to him again, it would be fine.

They could still go on dates. Still see each other at mealtimes and in the workshop and in the rec room. Still spend time together. Still be lovers. They just couldn't sleep together. He just couldn't go to sleep with Tony's hair against his cheek, and Tony's legs tangled with his. Couldn't nuzzle his lips against the nape of Tony's neck and curl an arm around Tony's waist as he was waking up. Couldn't use the soft, even sound of Tony's breathing to lull himself to sleep.

The thought was so painful that for an instant, it staggered him.

He didn't bother turning on the lights. He could see well enough to get to the bedroom door, and the trip took an eternity. His steps slow and reluctant, he headed towards the rest of his life, towards sleeping alone in the cold sheets, and wondered how many times he'd wake up and find himself reaching for someone who wasn't there. Wondered how long Tony would put up with sleeping alone before he reassessed this relationship.

Depressed beyond words, Steve opened the bedroom door. It took him a second to recognize that his bed was already occupied.

Steve struggled for a second, torn between exasperation and relief. “I would be well within my rights to be very angry right now,” he said, walking across the room. He took a seat on the edge of the mattress, removing his shoes before he swung around to face Tony.

“Yep,” Tony said, not moving. He was curled up beneath the blankets, hugging a pillow, facing away from the door, his posture one of a sustained pout

“Because this is deliberately ignoring the issues that I am having,” Steve pointed out. One hand reached out, and almost against his will, he found himself stroking Tony's hair, loving the texture of the tumbled locks. He loved the way it went to curls when it was a little too long and Tony had run his fingers through it a few too many times. “I am telling you that I cannot take the risk of hurting you, and that's why I'm moving out. So you coming down here without an invitation?”

“I'm pretty much an asshole,” Tony agreed.

“Little bit. Actually, you are a gigantic ass.” 

“Yeah. Should I leave?” Tony didn't move. Didn't turn. Just lay there, like he was clinging to what ground he'd managed to claim, clinging desperately to the line he'd drawn, but pushing no further. Steve wanted to laugh, or cry, or both, he no longer knew. He no longer cared. 

Because what should've been an imposition, should've been an affront, felt more like an apology. Like an attempt at understanding.

“I should say yes.”

“Are you going to?”

Steve thought about that. “You're an ass, Stark.”

“Yeah.” There was a moment of silence. “And you internalize things when I'm not around to distract you.”

Steve nodded. “Well, that's true.”

“Can we talk about this?” The words sounded pained, like they were unwilling even as he said them. 

“Wow,” Steve said, and he was amused despite himself. “Did you just ask to discuss our relationship?”

“Yes.” It sounded like Tony's teeth were clenched. “I'm trying, here.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Steve shifted sideways, putting his back against the bedframe, leaning into the pillows there. He kept his fingers in Tony's hair, and Tony didn't seem to be objecting to the contact. He took a deep breath. “I got beat up a lot as a kid,” he said. His lips quirked in a half-hearted smile. “And not as a kid.

“I was stubborn. And proud. And refused to back down, not if I was right. If I knew I was right, then I wasn't going to let anyone intimidate me. I wasn't going to give in, give ground, just because someone was bigger than me.” His head tipped back, he stared at the ceiling. “And pretty much everyone was bigger than me.”

Tony was still and quiet, and Steve was glad for that. That he was just listening. Letting Steve talk. “I stood up for myself, I stood up for others, I stood up for what I thought was right, and I had a lot of people hit me, Tony.” He rubbed a lock of Tony's hair between his thumb and his forefinger, separating each and every strand, letting each one brush against his skin. “There was no shame in being beaten. There was no shame, I knew that, in standing up for myself, even if it ended with me nursing a bruised face or split lip. Not when I limped for days, or couldn't breathe without feeling an ache through my whole chest. 

“There was no shame in being the one that was hit. But I despised the ones who got their way through intimidation and violence. Through threats and-” His eyes closed. “I hate bullies, Tony.” He could hear Tony's breathing, slow and measured. “And it would be so easy to become one now.”

For the first time, he lifted his hand from Tony's hair, held it up in front of his face, studied his hands in the low light. “To think of what I'm doing is for the right reasons. To make the wrong choices, for the right reasons. To use the strength I have now to force others to do what I want them to do.” His fingers closed into a fist, and it was a foreign thing, now that he stared at it, something he'd avoided looking at, avoided acknowledging. “It's not about being bigger or stronger than you,” he said, at last. “It's about the fact that it would kill me, if I hurt you.”

He looked down, and Tony had rolled over, his dark eyes gleaming in the light of the arc reactor. Steve managed a smile, and it hurt. “I love you. And I can't do that. I can't live with myself if I hurt you.”

Tony stared at him for a few minutes, silent and still. Then he glanced away, looking up at the ceiling. “You're asking me to leave you alone to suffer,” he said, and Steve's mouth opened, objection fully formed on his tongue. He didn't get a single word out before Tony cut him off. “No. I listened, now you listen.” He pushed himself up, and he was beautiful, the sleek curves of his shoulders and arms delineated in the pale light. He leaned back against the headboard, next to Steve, all tousled hair and golden skin. He was always, always, to Steve, a tangle of the familiar and the alien, and Steve loved him with this ferocity that made him ache.

“I know what you're thinking. I know how you think.” Tony angled a look in his direction. “But if we were in the field, if we were out there-” He flipped a hand in midair. “Fighting? And there was something that was attacking you? The fact that I could end up hurt doesn't matter. I won't let you fight alone. I won't let something tear you up because there's a chance I might be hurt.”

“That's not what this is,” Steve started.

“Yes. Yes, it is. This is a fight, this is a battle that you are fighting,” Tony said, kicking the covers away. Little anxious flicks of movement that betrayed his struggle. “This is you holding ground, no matter what, and I, I gotta admire that. I'm jealous of that.” Muscles bunched in his shoulders, in his back, when he leaned forward to brace his arms on his knees. “I couldn't. A lot of the time.

“But I know what it's like to get stuck in your own head. I know what it's like to-” His jaw went tight. “To break.” A breath, and another, the second slower, more controlled. But there was panic there beneath the control. Panic that he would not acknowledge. “Or to endure.” His lips twitched, a humorless little smile. “Enduring might be worse. At least breaking feels like it's an end.”

His throat worked. “I know what it's like to wake up alone.” The word didn't so much crack as shatter. Tony's fingers flicked against his knee, and his eyes flicked towards Steve's. “I know what it's like to wake up and still be in a nightmare and have no way out. I won't do it to you. Don't ask me to do that.”

“I have to,” Steve said. “Tony, I won't-”

Tony stared at the ceiling. “Thousands of men and women out there have PTSD,” he said at last. “Every soldier coming back from every front since war began has run the risk of accidentally hurting the person they love most. And every person who's ever loved a soldier, male and female, small and large, has to acknowledge that.”

Steve sighed. “And they're not sleeping with someone like me,” he said at last. “I'm-” His throat worked. “Dangerous.”

“And somewhere out there, there is a woman who weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet, and she's crawling into bed with a man literally twice her size,” Tony said. “And I'm betting if you told her she couldn't, or shouldn't, she'd have a couple of words for you.”

Steve's lips twitched, but the smile was short lived. “It's not the same, Tony. I'm not-” 

“No, it's not the same. Because we've got an ace in the hole that no one else has.” Tony grinned at him. “We've got Jarvis.”

Steve paused, his brow wrinkling. “What?”

“No one else has Jarvis,” Tony said, and sounded distinctly smug about that. “He doesn't have to sleep. Doesn't get distracted. Doesn't forget. He can monitor you, can monitor me, vitals and movement and stress levels. And we can find a way to protect both of us. An alarm or a something to wake you up if there's a problem.” His lips quirked. “I mean, if it comes down to it? He can set off the sprinklers. I bet that'll wake you up.”

“I'll bet that'll wake us both up.” Steve took a deep breath. And another. “I can not hurt you,” he said, because it needed to be said. He needed to caution himself. Against the dawning sense of relief, the desperate need to grab this solution without thought, without consideration.

Tony nodded. “I get that. But I-” He stopped, and the muscles of his shoulders, of his arms and back and chest were all tight, a strain that pulled him taut. “I need you,” he said, and as reluctant as the words sounded, as frustrated and petulant as Tony's voice was, they still made Steve flush.

He reached out. “Will you come here?” he asked. “Jarvis, can I have half lights, please?”

“Of course,” Jarvis said, as the lights coming up as Tony pushed himself upright. 

Steve reached out, his fingers gentle against the side of Tony's face. He leaned in, his lips just barely brushing against Tony's temple, his cheekbone, the soft skin of his eyelid. “I hate this,” he whispered against Tony's cheek. 

“It'll heal,” Tony said, his fingers sliding up the back of Steve's neck, the touch firm and familiar. “I've had worse.”

“Not that I've given you.”

Tony pulled back, his eyes fluttering open. “I'm fine,” he said, his lips kicking up on one side. “Hey. Steve. I'm fine.” Steve studied his face, and it hurt, looking at that hurt, and it must've showed on his face. Tony arched an eyebrow. “Wanna make it up to me?” he asked. “C'mere.”

Steve let Tony pull him down, went willingly into Tony's arms. Tony nuzzled his throat, his hands sliding down Steve's back. “Sorry,” he said, the word muffled against Steve's skin.

“I'm kind of afraid to ask for what.” Steve rolled them both, putting Tony on his back so he could savor the kiss without Tony making a muddled mess of his mind. His weight on his arms, Steve ducked his head down to brush his lips against Tony's mouth, against the angle of his jaw and the line of his cheek. Steve let his mouth linger against the bruised skin, until Tony reached up pulled Steve's head around. Steve met his eyes with a strange sort of reluctance, the ache in the pit of his stomach not quite dissipated.

“I didn't mean to fall asleep,” Tony said. He gave Steve a displeased look, just the faintest hint of a pout around his lips, not that he'd ever admit that if Steve pointed it out. “I expected you earlier than this.”

Steve opened his mouth, and stopped. Sighing, he let his head fall forward, leaning his forehead against Tony's. Feeling his cheeks flush, he admitted, “I was sitting outside of your bedroom, waiting for you to-” He felt, rather than heard, Tony start to laugh, and lifted his head. Tony was choking on his laughter, his teeth digging into his lower lip, his eyes dancing. Steve gave Tony a lopsided smile, relief flooding him. “I thought you were in the workshop.”

“I thought you were still in the gym,” Tony said, grinning back. Reaching out, he snagged the front of Steve's shirt and dragged him in for a hard kiss. Steve leaned into him, so grateful for the contact that he kept the kiss going longer than he should have. When they finally broke apart, Steve was breathing hard, and Tony's hands were under his shirt, pushing the material out of the way. “Goddamn it, Jarvis, you could've told me,” Tony said before his mouth settled against the hollow of Steve's throat.

“I wasn't asked,” Jarvis replied, properly insulted, and Steve started to laugh, despite the fact that he was suddenly somehow on his back, and Tony was straddling his hips, his hands heavy on Steve's chest. 

“You could help, that's all I'm saying,” Tony said, and this should be weird, right? It should be weird that he was carrying on a conversation with Jarvis even as he wrestled Steve's t-shirt off of him, even as Steve's hands were sliding down under the waistband of his pants. It really should feel out of place, but Steve was laughing. The sensation of relief was like euphoria, and it wasn't over, none of this was over, but it was going to be okay, he was going to be okay. He could believe it, as he listened to Tony bicker with his AI, that this was his life, and this was normal.

His life was very, very odd. But it involved a soon-to-be naked Tony, so that was definitely a plus.

“I am not yet a mind reader, sir,” Jarvis said, droll about it. “Do let me know when you're prepared to begin work on that particular enhancement.”

“Listen, I have enough voices in my head telling me I'm an idiot, I don't need yours,” Tony grumbled out, and Steve yanked him down for a hard, hot kiss, 

When they broke apart, they were both panting and flushed, and Tony was saying things that Steve could not allow himself to focus on, because he would absolutely lose it. Instead, he twisted his head around, inadvertently giving Tony access to his neck. “Jarvis?” he managed, trying to focus through the mist of hormones and need. “Need you to-”

“I understand. Do carry on, I shall see to my task,” Jarvis said, and Steve couldn't quite hold back a burst of semi-hysterical laughter. 

“Oh, sure,” Tony said, his head coming up to glare at the ceiling. “HIM, you're more than happy to accommodate.”

“Tony-” Steve started, but Tony was on a roll.

“I'm trying to build a relationship here, and you're deliberately undermining me-”

“Tony, you ran away rather than deal with our very real relationship issues,” Steve said, not sure when that became amusing rather than horrifying, but it was, it was amusing to him.

“It made sense at the time,” Tony said, his legs shifting as he straddled Steve's hips. Steve's back arched, his breath catching in his throat.

“Tony.”

“I made the logical choice, Steve!”

“You went to China!”

“And when you found me, you tried to move out, so it seems like I made a good choice!” Tony grinned down at him, but it died in a moment. His eyes dark, he leaned in, his forehead brushing against Steve's. “Look, I'm bad at relationships, Steven, you knew that.”

“Well, I'm certainly no good at them, so I hope you're not depending on me, because that's not going to go well,” Steve said, and Tony burst into laughter. Steve grinned up at him, warmth sweeping over him, and he caught Tony's laughter with his lips. The kiss was sweet and hot and nearly enough to drown him, except Tony's grip was firm. “I'm sorry,” he said against Tony's mouth.

“How sorry?” Tony asked. He was grinning now, Steve could feel the curl of his lips and the laughter was right and sweet and a relief. 

Steve kissed him. “What do you mean, how sorry?” he asked, nuzzling at Tony's jaw with warm lips.

“Sorry enough to let me take advantage of this?” Tony's fingers slid through Steve's short hair, and Steve's head came up. 

“What?”

Tony was staring at his hair, his cheekbones covered with a warm flush and his lips parted. There was a glazed sort of look to his eyes. “This, uh, this disguise of yours.”

Steve blinked at him. “Tony?”

“I liked the glasses,” Tony admitted.

Steve felt the grin bloom on his face. “What are you-”

“Look, I spent my formulative years at boarding school and then at MIT, the geek thing, well, I still have fond memories of the slightly unfashionable sort of geek chic thing, I know this, of all my kinks, I'd say this one is pretty much the one that you should not be mocking me for, so let's-”

Steve kissed him, cutting off the babble of words effectively. “Yes,” he mumbled against Tony's mouth.

When he pulled back, Tony stared up at him, his eyebrows arched. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Steve repeated, grinning. “What do you-”

Tony rolled free of him, tossing back the covers with so much enthusiasm that they ended up in a pile on the floor. “Let's go.”

“Go? Go where?” Steve sat back on his elbows, enjoying the view of skin and sleek muscle.

“StarkIndustries, it'll be mostly deserted now, let's go, I'm going to find a lone, shy IT employee working late at night and offer to reward his dedication to duty,” Tony said, sounding far too gleeful.

“We are not going to your office so you can sexually harass me in the server room,” Steve said, catching his wrist. “It's the middle of the night!”

“That is the perfect time,” Tony told him, but he let Steve tug him back to bed.

“I just want you tonight,” Steve said, coaxing now. Careful about it. “I want you, and this bed, and I want to sleep here.” He paused. “With you.”

Tony's eyes rolled, but he was smiling. “Fine. Tomorrow?”

“Tony!”

Tony leaned in, kissing him, and it was hot and hard. When he finally pulled back, Steve was panting, just a little, need and want and desire a potent mix. He felt dizzy, almost drunk, and he darted in for another kiss, and another. “Tomorrow?” Tony said into his mouth. 

Steve didn't care any more. He was a pervert. It was fine. “Tomorrow,” he agreed.

*

-Epilogue-

He came awake, a silent scream caught low in his throat.

The throb of the alarm was still pulsing in his ears as he struggled to breathe.

“You are safe, Steve,” Jarvis said, calm and precise. The alarm, pitched to be picked up by his ears and not Tony's, subsided. “You are in New York City, in the Avengers tower. The war is over, and you are safe.”

Steve tried to focus, to pull himself together, and Jarvis' voice was gentle and soothing in his ears. He focused on the words, trying to hold onto them, as Jarvis gave him the date and time, and their current location. Steve sucked in a breath, and another, his pulse pounding in his ears, almost loud enough to drown out Jarvis' words. He fumbled with the blankets, ripping them away, pushing himself up.

“The person in bed with you is Tony Stark,” Jarvis continued, the litany carefully considered. There was a beat of pause. “He loves you, very much.”

Steve's shoulders jerked, a quick laugh, almost a giggle, pushing through the panic. Drawing his knees up, Steve folded himself forward, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his face in them. “I know,” he said. “Thank you, Jarvis, I'm okay.”

“Your vital signs are stabilizing,” Jarvis agreed. “Please take a few slow, deep breaths for me, so that I might recalibrate my sensors.”

Steve's lips twitched up, seeing the ploy for what it was, a transparent effort to get him to bring his breathing under control. But he did it, sucking in a slow, steady breath through his nose, and exhaling through his mouth, emptying his lungs completely before he took another. Oxygen was like a drug, thick and rich and pure in his lungs, in his bloodstream. 

“Please tell me who you are, and where you are,” Jarvis said.

Steve nodded. “I am Steve Rogers, I am an Avenger, and I am in Stark Tower, in New York City, in the 21st century.” The words were calming. “I'm in bed with Tony Stark. Who loves me.”

“Do you wish to talk to me?” Jarvis asked.

“No, thanks, I'm fine. Don't wake him,” Steve said, still regulating his breathing.

“I am sorry, Steve, but you may wake him, or I must. That is the protocol that you agreed to,” Jarvis said. He sounded vaguely amused, as he always did, as he let Steve stall for just a couple more seconds, let him gather himself for a moment and pull himself together and all him to appear stable.

“I know, I know.” Steve straightened up. He reached for Tony, giving his shoulder a gentle shake.

Tony's eyes snapped open, and he was scrambling upright before Steve could stop him. “No, it's okay, it's fine,” Steve said, and Tony let out a shuddering breath, even as his eyes came into focus. “Sorry.”

Tony pushed a hand through Steve's hair, stroking it away from his face. “You okay?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep. 

Steve leaned into his touch. “Yeah. I'm fine. So-”

Tony cut him off with a kiss, swallowing the word. A moment later, he pulled away, and his face was flushed in the low light, his breathing a bit faster, a bit shallower. His eyes darted over Steve's face, considering him. “You okay?” he repeated.

Steve let his head fall onto Tony's shoulder, letting out a shuddering breath. “Better now,” he admitted, and Tony's arms slipped around him, pulling him in, pulling him down. “Can we...”

“Yes. We can.”

Steve laughed. “You don't know what I'm going to ask.”

“Doesn't really matter,” Tony said, the words sleepy and hot and amused. His fingers slid up the plane of Steve's back, to the nape of his neck. “I'm awake now, which means I'm up for pretty much anything you have to suggest.”

Laughing, Steve kissed his temple, his jaw, his mouth. “I'm going to pay for this later, aren't I?”

“Do you care?”

Steve pulled back, far enough to see his face. Tony was smiling up at him, eyes sleepy and face flushed, and Steve grinned back at him. “I find I don't, actually.”

Tony tugged him down. “Good man.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, one and all! I got distracted by a handful of other pieces, and, well, real life. Thank you for your kind words and your encouragement, and for still caring about the end of this one. 8)

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Tony did in fact hire Steve to work at StarkIndustries in "Phil Coulson Can't Keep the Avengers Out of Medical." I enjoy making him regret his decisions.


End file.
